


Beauty Queen

by VoltageStone



Series: LWA Collections [4]
Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: Christmas fic, Diakko, Dianakko, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/F, Fairy Tale Curse, Fairy Tale Elements, Finnelariot, Hanbarbara, Past Drug Addiction, Second Person, Sexual Assult, Sexual Content, age-gap, drug overdose, halloween fic, new year's fic, three-shot, valentine's day fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27841135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoltageStone/pseuds/VoltageStone
Summary: Luna Nova Academy. Where aspiring witches are taught the craft. Where professors take their second chance. Of life. Turning their back from their time on the streets, or their decrepit households. And if they found love? That's a very beautiful thing.Beautiful…even in the face of death once the past returns with an insatiable vengeance.
Relationships: Diana Cavendish/Atsuko "Akko" Kagari, Hannah England/Barbara Parker, Ursula Callistis | Chariot du Nord/Anne Finnelan
Series: LWA Collections [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1474910
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Beauty Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Beauty](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/720562) by Layto. 
  * Inspired by [Beauty (slowed)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/730983) by Layto | STABENAX. 



Luna Nova was once primed with the knowledge that the most well-respected, renowned, and disciplined witches taught each new generation the ways of magic. The best during the Golden Age, of course. The academy certainly held that esteem for several centuries as generations came and went, and as the wealth of magic continued to flourish.

Although, the eventual croak—the disinterest—in witchcraft proved to be near-fatal for Luna Nova. Many generations remained loyal still, though the professors dulled and flickered in their abilities. In their knowledge. In their prestige. In their...resumes. 

It always takes you a moment, a long one at that, to remember how much this school has changed since your own days as a student. Back then, it was still comparable to the Golden Age of Magic, but the decline had been noticed. Money was the first issue, ever since a sorcerer's stone had to be installed. A bigger one, that is—not just for the fairies. Then it was getting those loyal generations to stay. Then find _good_ professors. Maintaining the property amongst all the troubles. Keeping up with the times. Losing the headmistress unexpectedly (to a damn mandrake, of all things). The plumbing. The towers...

Everything. Absolutely _everything_ declined since the Golden Age, and you can't help but think how incredible, _intuitive,_ Headmistress Holbrooke is for managing to pull everything together—just to make ends meet. And then to tie the ends? Despite many hounding after her with distaste, scoffing at what the school had become? It was a fallacy.

What did they know? If they realized just how desperate Luna Nova was for its pride, they would've understood the great lengths she took to maintain such a demanding feat. Miranda Holbrooke kept the school running for its students. That, however, wasn't all. Miranda Holbrooke birthed a _sanctuary_ for its professors.

The truth was, from how far Luna Nova had fallen, Holbrooke knew the rarity of witches that would be willing to brave the uncertainty—step away from their prestigious lives—and teach.

So? She searched for witches who were far from prestigious. Witches, that, had lost their way, and Luna Nova was the last hope. She took great care and scoured across England, then Europe, the Old World, and then the Americas. Each and every professor, from every walk of life, chosen.

You were the first she found. 

You remember—albeit barely—that old, cheery woman from down the alley; you think how miraculous your memory is that you can still picture the fine blue vest she wore, and the sure grin against the sharp breeze. You were drunk from a handful of beers, then the additional line of crack. Or two. For each nostril. And the more you think about that night, the more you notice the gaps in judgement and clarity. It was...a rough time, to sugarcoat it.

She had barely gotten a word in before you threw your bottle at her heels, and then came the snarled obscenities which warped your prim accent into a brash slew of words. By the next week, with your dismal sobriety, Holbrooke found you again. And this, you remember vividly. It was a cold day, and abysmally bitter. She sat beside you, on your bench—your home—and spoke nonchalantly about the way the clouds moved.

All London had to offer was a damn blanket of grey. It might as well have been one sheet. But no, Miranda disagreed, and said that there were more than one, _and_ that clouds always moved on to new things. She then asked you how long you'd been trapped in your pitiful cycle with only a bench, the clothes on your back, and a pouch of coins to your name.

You relayed your entire life, which ate the afternoon whole. You were born to a noble witch's family—not a name like Cavendish, but a modest one. At ten, you had promised yourself and your parents that you'd dedicate your life to magic. By twenty, you were the first in your class, deemed the Moonlit Witch twice, a prefect the last year, and became an alchemist's apprentice at Oxford. But, it seemed, the alchemist was too fond of certain elements, mixtures and compounds, and your life spiraled. You barely registered when your thirties came, and by then, your parents had blotched your name out the family tree, all while you wondered how in God's name you were alive; you were immune to alcohol poisoning, and cocaine was candy. And, finally, you were on your bench at forty-three (give or take a year), talking to a curious old woman with a wise eye, and a calming grin.

"Anne?" she had asked you.

"Yes?"

Her eyes flicked from behind her rectangular glasses. "Do you still love magic?"

"Of course I do," you whispered. Your tone was sour more than fond, although the ghost of sentimentality remained: "When I can hold my wand straight, it's the only thing in the world."

"And do you know, _remember,_ what you've been taught all those years ago?"

"Like second-nature."

She bowed her head with a satisfied grin. "Well then. Anne, I want you to see a specialist about your condition. I know a witch. She can completely eradicate any need for any drug with a flick of the wrist—plus the extremities. After that, I'd like you to come back to Luna Nova."

By that point, you were eager. "And teach what?"

Her smile was charming, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were soft. "Why, anything, really. There are a lot of positions open at the moment."

Right there, right then, when you agreed on that sorry bench of yours, you were welcomed into the sanctuary. And as the years passed, you'd watch other witches join you, building a new Luna Nova.

**— — — — — — — — — —**

Halloween week is a special one. Not only does the holiday plunge the academy into a warm, festive spirit, it also brightens the mood of every single student without fail. The pumpkins that grow in the gardens. The pastries and treats that are prepared. The warmth of the lanterns as the nights darken. The way the New Moon tower shines. All of it spawns an excitement within the student body.

And, probably the biggest culprit of the many things, is the lax restrictions regarding the visiting hours to the town. It's only in the evenings, of course, but it's an ease of stress throughout the day nonetheless. Even if the classes you teach get too excited, you find with the proper guidance, they're often just as eager as you are for the afternoons, so things go smoothly. …for most teams, anyway, but that's beside the point.

The sun is high as the horizon begins to fuzz into an orange, and you close your book once your small timer hits three-thirty exactly. With a flick of your wand, the teal, transparent timer is whisked into the air, leaving the small table bare. Out in the overhang, outside, there are few students mulling around with you. Ones that are leisurely in their stroll towards the broom tower, and others who you presume are waiting for their friends.

You begin to organize the roster for the next shift, aligning each page with names to the side of the clipboard with precision and expertise.

The professors, too, are excited for Halloween as usual; a fine supper, and in turn a satisfying _break,_ is definitely worth a semester's effort. And while you look forward to the food, you anticipate the conversations to drain you. There'd be Samantha Badcock who'd spur the gossip after her second glass of cider; she had been the first professor to join you at Luna Nova, after she was found guilty for tax evasion. Violet Hopps and Susan Cabbage would join Samantha, boring you out of your mind as you try to slog through your tea; both women, incidentally, were hired one after the other, avoiding their husbands entirely. You still don't really know if they knew each other beforehand, and if it was one big drama-fest, though you never had the interest to ask.

At the very least, Pisces would intervene with a simple, innocent question that'd break up all the talk, and Miranda would respond with a laugh and a remark. Every time, you listen with earnest; if you have to be honest, you're quite fond of the little professor, ever since you watched her trespass across the ponds, hopping and skipping until she eventually begged to teach. Apparently, Professor Pisces had found a sunken boat with numerous of philosophical texts protected by spells. A very interesting fish indeed. And since Headmistress Holbrooke is the headmistress, Pisces was hired on the spot.

And like clockwork, after a few slices of pie, Nelson would jump in to tell one of her numerous stories from her time as a gambler, U.S fighter pilot, athlete and, well, her time in prison. (It's still a wonder how Miranda found her in the first place.) Not too long after that, Lukić would be the first to leave, commenting on the time and whatnot, and how well Miranda organized the whole thing since the previous headmistresses weren't as excitable. You never asked where Lukić came from. One day she wasn't at Luna Nova, and the next day you had a dorm neighbor to your right who knew exactly where she'd set her furniture the last time she taught. You also don't ask about her record, though Miranda had said (under her breath, once) that firing was merely an inconvenience for the woman.

Then chatter, chatter, you've reached the bottom of your tea, and you too decide to go to bed. And, most of the time, you just slip away, unnoticed…

You shake your head and fish out your wand to check the time. "Good lord, Anne," you mumble. You look down to the roster. For the past ten minutes, you've been meticulously aligning the papers without realizing it. You exhale, tuck your book underneath your arm, and push the chair to the center of the table—then slide the clipboard to the appropriate place for your own sanity. With an eased breath, you turn away.

And then.

Your gut twists.

Revisiting your expectations of Halloween night, you add the quiet moments where your boredom hadn't gone unnoticed, and a sweet, charming smile would be sent your way. A quiet, inviting conversation would fill your time whenever you couldn't bother with the rest…

Through the columns and to the courtyard, you see _her_. Humble with a book in her hand, she smiles with the few students around her. It's not often you find the schoolgirls to linger in classrooms for long after a lesson, let alone talk to their professors so casually in the courtyard. _Especially_ when you consider the allure of the town. But, once in a blue moon, they do, and always with _her._ Ursula Callistis. You know it's because she's younger than the rest of your colleagues, and that her voice is still so soft and warm, and she's sweet all around, and her demeanor—even if it lends itself to a louder, uncontrolled class—is a breath of fresh air to even your lessons. And...she's Ursula Callistis. The one professor who every student wants (if only for a semester) during their time at Luna Nova.

You're lost for a moment, gaze locked afar before you jerk back to the table you stand aside, and the book in your arm. And it takes you a few seconds to realize _why:_ there's giggling beside you. With a stern brow, you eye the two girls curiously, and their giggles muffle behind their hands. "Miss Jansson, Miss Parker? What's so funny?"

Lotte Jansson immediately reddens and says, "Well, uh, nothing professor. Not really." She fixes her glasses as Barbara shrugs with her bag over her shoulder.

"We're just waiting for Hannah, Professor Finnelan. Well, I am. Lotte's going to the courtyard later." You arch your brow. "We're not sneaking anyone out," Barbara says, with an added, "…again." Miss Jansson stares at her gall, and you can only sigh; she had always been a confident girl in her own right, though Miss Parker has only gotten _outwardly_ so in the past semester. You know it's because of Miss England.

"I see." You blink and see Nelson waving from down the sidewalk, wearing a wide, toothy grin. "Well then, it's time for me to get back to my office. You two stay safe down in the town." You add, as an afterthought to Lotte, "And you out of trouble with Miss Kagari."

"We will," they reply in unison.

As you stride to meet the broom instructor halfway, the giggling resumes, though muffled. You pause once Nelson pats your shoulder. "Quiet day?"

"As much as it can be. They're all shopping for Halloween, so you'll have a lot of traffic in the later hours."

"Damn," she sighs. "I was hopin' t' finish with the gradin'." You look at the thick, unkempt binder of papers.

"Did you have them right an essay on flying?" you ask.

"Yup." With a smug nod, Nelson marches off to the table, and you shake your head with a subtly-amused grin.

Instinctively, though, you're quick to take your mind off of your duties as your gaze drifts back towards Ursula, just for a moment. And you think of a day not quite sunny, nor as vibrant...

**— — — — — — — — — —**

The day had been bleak in both weather and atmosphere—clouds dark, students gloomy. The fairies were unmotivated. The other professors were slow at their work. Even you had caught a whiff of the dreary demeanor, only wanting to rest in your bed with a novel in your hands.

Instead, Headmistress Holbrooke had other plans. A new professor would arrive, and you, with Samantha, were to guide her around the campus—to what had changed over the past few years, and what was exclusive to the staff. She was a former student, and you wondered...many things, really, since the day was just _that_ dismal.

With Professor Badcock at your side, you listened to her audible hodgepodge of thoughts as they fell from her mouth: "Of all days to come, a Tuesday! A _Tuesday!_ Of course, this is the most grey I've seen any day this month, but isn't it strange? It's not the beginning, middle or end of the week, and the weekends are far more common for professors to come in. Makes you think she'd come by on short notice, or just figured she'd come by _earlier_ than usual. Or she had nothing to do at all."

"I see..." you murmured. Your comment had about as much weight as a feather: Samantha barely noticed it.

"But I was talking a little about her with Miranda. She didn't really tell me much, so I don't know where she's from or what she did before now. Quite mysterious, I think. A lot like Lukić—still don't know where _she_ came from..." Samantha paused with her brows furrowed. She shifted her glasses and said, "But, Miranda did tell me she's quite younger. I don't know how the girl will fair, being a professor at this academy. I do hope she has some sense, don't you?"

"I do..." The two of you turned the corner, passing a few janitors who swept their hats with a gentle bow. You paid them with a subtle nod. 

As talkative as ever, Samantha was only focused on what lay ahead. "If she is younger, wouldn't that mean Miranda could've had her as a student? As headmistress, of course." 

You blinked, surprised that she'd waited for an answer. "It's quite possible, I'd say. And if anything, I could've potentially taught her."

"That is true... You've been here a little while. Seven years, innit?" Samantha turned away, then gave a short gasp. "Is that her? She looks..." The professor paused, searching for a _gentle_ word. "...modest. Quite pretty though." You followed her gaze curiously and...

Your steps slowed as you observed. The woman wore muted clothes—dark boots and pants, and a grey, simple shawl with its hood down. Her hair was a rich blue, shoulder-length. With its volume, there was an untamed quality about it. Yet, she stood beside Miranda with an elegant figure, the air around her calm. And while you couldn't hear the specifics, you were familiar with the gentle nod that often accompanied Miranda's charming conversations.

Step by step, you felt yourself buzz. It was alien, though comforting. You didn't know if it was just the symptoms of that day, or if your curiosity had overtaken you—gone past your own boundaries.

"Ah! There they are!"

Your attention was nabbed. You halted alongside Samantha, who smiled and nodded. Miranda gestured with a grin, and you forced your eyes everywhere else but the woman. The buzz was seeping from your chest, and your thoughts were becoming fickle. "This is Samantha Badcock. She is in charge of the finances of the school, and, unsurprisingly, teaches all things economics, with a sprinkle of mathematics."

"Oh, that makes me sound bigger than I am," Samantha giggled. She clapped her hands together cheerfully. "But, yes, that is what I do."

A polite hum stole you for a moment. You were drawn to the woman's smile and kind face. "Well, it's certainly better than me... I could learn a thing or two about money." Her voice. So...gentle. Soft. In your chest, the buzz fluttered.

"And, this is Anne Finnelan. Been by my side for almost a decade now—" You stricken as enchanting, red eyes flicked to yours. And they remained fixed. Miranda's voice blurred. The hallway around you smudged. They were _beautiful._ "—does a lot of things around here. Isn't that right, Anne?"

"Wh—" You jerked, flustered, and batted your eyes away. "Why, yes, that's right." You cleared your throat and swallowed the nervous ball that had manifested, all while you ignored Miranda's inquisitive stare that clipped your shoulder and burned your neck. With your usual hardened expression, your gaze slipped back to her. It softened immediately though, and you said, "It is a pleasure having you to teach with us, Professor...?"

She offered her hand, gaze still locked with yours. "Ursula," she answered gently. You took it and shook. Her hand. Smooth. Warm.

"Oh dear me!" Miranda chuckled to herself and fixed her glasses. When you pulled your hand away and watched the headmistress carefully, you felt the bitter, still air of the hall that replaced the beautiful woman's... _Ursula's..._ touch. "I didn't introduce her to you two! This is Ursula Callistis. She graduated a few years before Anne, I believe. Yes, that's right. You were in the late 90s. Anyway, she's here to teach many of the electives, but astronomy would be the focus, right?"

"Y-Yes, I think so." The timid twinge in her voice caught you once again. Her eyes swept to you, and her skin reddened before she darted her gaze away.

Samantha clapped her hands together again. "Astronomy? Then you must be housing in the observatory, yes?"

"Yes, I am. It would be nice to be close to my studies... And my familiar—h-he's outside—would probably prefer the space anyway."

"Really? Outside in the cold?"

Ursula laughed softly. "Yes, though he does enjoy it, actually. He even loves the snow."

Samantha chuckled and muttered, "How funny..."

"Well then," Miranda chirped. "How about you show her around, get her comfortable while the fairies are off cleaning the observatory."

Samantha nodded dutifully, and you stood, completely numb. "Of course, Miranda. Follow me, Miss Callistis, and we can start with this wing of the academy—though you'll recognize a lot of it, I'm sure..." 

You felt the headmistress watch after you three as you left down the corridor. With Samantha ahead, gesturing to the lecture halls to the left, you kept your gaze locked on the windows if not Ursula. You barely kept up with Samantha's tour, let alone her winded explanations of it all.

"Down here, we don't really use this one much. It's a large space, so Nelson—she's the broom instructor—sometimes uses it since it's close to the fields outside, but other than that, it remains empty."

"Oh," Ursula murmured curiously, glancing through the cracked door. "So the culinary class moved?"

Samantha paused, brows furrowed. With a spike of energy, you explained, "Well, it's been added to another class. Lukić teaches it with potions in the spring."

"That's right, I forgot about that." You'd barely paid attention to Samantha. Ursula's gaze swept back to you, and for a second, you froze. The buzz had spread across your back. "Well, let's continue then, before we lose the chance to get anything outside—I think there's going to be a storm..."

A storm...? What storm? Was that day really so dark anymore? You swore the clouds had shifted. Samantha just had to have been a part of a different world; her words were even drowned beneath a vast ocean.

Every now and again, those red eyes would slip back to you. Bewitching. Alluring. Every time, the potency of their magnetism would draw you closer. Within minutes, you were right beside her with only a sliver of space in between. And the funny thing? She didn't move away, no. She really didn't. It was as if Ursula didn't mind at all.

"...offices are here. Mine is locked right now—forgot my damn key. _But,_ Anne's is right here, if she'd want to... Ah yes." Your enthusiasm had cut her off, it seemed. With numb hands, you opened your office door, and once opened, you remained flat against it as the two peered inside. Ursula, though, didn't pay attention for long. "...so your office would be attached to the observatory, but I believe it's around this size."

You were captivated. She studied your shoulders and collar with a curious eye. Ursula murmured, her voice of honey, "Quite the handsome spot." Her accent...just what was that?

Without any reason, your cheeks warmed, and your chest swelled with pride. "Why, thank-you," you hummed, your words sugared. "Many of the furniture is reused from the storage. There's a lot of interesting pieces in there."

"Really?"

You nodded earnestly. "Yes... Wardrobes, mirrors, bookshelves." An idea blossomed, and you were driven by a reanimated inclination—one that went back many years since you'd attempted anything of the sort. Still, you dusted off your charm and said, "There's even a four-poster bed. Its drapes are still folded, in shape... From what I remember, it's sturdy, and was hand-carved by a fairy. Although, the mattress itself may be too stiff for anyone's liking."

Maybe it was your light grin, or perhaps your quirked eyebrow that caused it; regardless, she grew pink and chuckled lightly. "That wouldn't be good," the beautiful woman murmured.

"Yes, it wouldn't," Samantha cut across, chipped. Your grin was wiped, and you watched your colleague innocently. The witch had her hands on her hips, and it had been apparent she'd been tapping her foot, impatient. She cleared her throat and said, "Well then, we're almost done with the inside—" had you three been walking for that long?— "so let's go and finish this up then!"

"Okay, professor," Ursula coughed politely, the pink of her skin a fine red.

Back in the hall, once your office was closed, Samantha led the way and went on about...well, Luna Nova. Or something. Certainly not anything important—not that Luna Nova _wasn't,_ but that day had been so dry, and gloomy, with _everything_ absolutely depressing. You watched Ursula who'd kept herself at your side, taking a visual tour of her own. Which wasn't Luna Nova, _and_ it made you consider searching a mirror to find what was so appealing.

For that afternoon, and in that moment, you promised to yourself that you'd relax. And, strangely, it was easy to(?). The ease was from another lifetime, before Oxford. Well, maybe before you were born too, if reincarnation was a thing... 

Quietly, as to keep Samantha happily touring the academy in peace, you asked, "Now what is your accent? If I may ask, of course."

Ursula smiled. "Considering your languages background, you could humor me...?"

"I deal with ancient languages—magical ones, at that..." She arched a brow, grin playful. "Southern France?"

Her gentle laugh thrummed. "I grew up on a vineyard and a little ranch."

"Really? By the sea?"

Ursula shook her head. "No, though a lot of the times I wished. But it was nice and peaceful. Kind of like this academy, except here it's a castle."

"It is, isn't it?"

You glanced towards Samantha, who waved her arms excitedly towards the ceiling arches high above. "I always thought of it like a fairytale, since it has all the architecture and forest? Especially the New Moon tower with the crystal—it's something non-magic families would write about."

This woman... A thought struck you and fed your blooming curiosity. Luna Nova was a home to its professors underneath Headmistress Holbrooke. How— How could this woman find herself here?

"Well, that about wraps it up. Do you have any questions, Miss Callistis?"

"Hmm?" Ursula blinked and pursed a polite smile. "Oh, uh, no. Thank-you Professor Badcock, it's been delightful."

Every single professor...chosen. A sanctuary. A second chance. Ursula...

"I can walk you to the green house and other buildings, if you'd like," you intervened, capturing the young woman once again.

"Anne, it's raining!"

Ursula Callistis, who found her way to Luna Nova on a dreary afternoon—and a Tuesday, of all days. What was it about this witch that brought her here?

You whipped out your wand, and within seconds, a beam of light widened into a modest umbrella. "The rain shouldn't be much of a problem." Ursula stepped closer, underneath its hood. She took your bent elbow with a light grin.

"But— Anne— What if it storms?!"

Rather crossly, your features sharpened into its usual scowl, and your crisp voice slipped out: "We're _witches,_ Samantha. A storm won't be an issue." The double doors leading outside opened, and come to find it's only sprinkling. Nevertheless, you guided Ursula outside with a simple, "I will take care of this, Samantha. You can take your break."

"I— You... O-Okay."

Away from the doors, and Samantha, your eyes scanned the fields and paths, trees and fountains. Beside you, Ursula wrapped the shawl across her chest tightly. "Are you alright?"

"I am," she murmured. "I just hate the cold."

You gave a soft smile. There was no storm, nor were the drops of rain thick, but the breeze certainly made its presence known. "So do I. The greenhouse is warm, if you'd like. The Jennifer Tree is still there, and some of the other professors are growing cacti—so there are plenty of heating spells."

Red eyes enchanted you once more. "That sounds nice, professor."

And so you walked together, your conversations moving between Luna Nova, France, London, and everything in between. You wondered though, even still: what was it about her? Professors didn't just _wind up_ at Luna Nova.

_Ursula Callistis... What was your first chance?_

**— — — — — — — — — —** **  
**

"Come _on,_ Akko! Just eat the Goddamn candy so we can end this already!"

Akko's hands are pressed against her face, and Amanda scowls through grunts as she spits between the fingers clamped across her jaw. With one grip dug into Akko's wrist, she reaches her other hand towards tight mouth that—for once— _refuses_ to speak. To the four others of their respective teams, their brawling is akin to beetles: frozen with shivering tension, and downright ludicrous-looking.

They've been locked in this entanglement for over five minutes—now _eight_ according to Lotte's internal clock. Eight of the nine minutes she joined her friends once leaving Barbara at the ley-line, where the first minute was Akko shouting and being barreled into the ground. Lotte, with a smug Sucy beside her, watches patiently while stanbots hover by Akko's head, chanting, Jasminka eats through the last batch of candy, munching, and Constanze serves as referee, attentive.

With a hard club of a knee against her stomach, Amanda sputters and curls around herself. _Finally,_ Akko shoves her off and scrambles to her feet. "No!" she snaps. Her glare is particularly fixed on the dark, oily sphere between Amanda's fingers. "I've told you already! I can't eat any of that trash—or _whatever_ you call it!"

Amanda grumbles to herself, the hard candy now tucked within her closed hand. "Oh, bullshit! I had to eat the caramel that you wiped off of my broom! _And_ I only dipped this in the fountain for ten seconds!" she argues. "Now eat it! You're the one who failed my dare, remember?!"

"I thought you were going to tell me to do something stupid like lick a wall!"

"And I instead told you to paraphrase the first gospel that we had to memorize for class!"

"That—" Akko blinks, her face dawning a dark red hue. "That was first _semester!_ "

"From the easiest fuckin' class! Ursula taught that one!"

Lotte sighs. _They aren't going to stop, are they?_ Usually she'd intervene, though it had become apparent that, in one way or another, she'd have mud on her face by the end; there is only so many times a girl can wash her glasses with a layer of crusted soil on her face.

Akko waves her hands. "Okay, _whatever!_ Not the point! I don't care about the fountain juice, I can't eat that candy!"

Brows furrowed, Amanda inspects the it. "Why not? It's perfectly good." (...disregarding the fountain water.) She adds, "It's just grape wine."

" _Yeah!_ I can't eat that today!" Akko thrusts her hand towards Sucy, whose smile falters to disinterest immediately. "She gave me some potion or something last night, and now she's been trying to feed me _that_ candy all day! I'm gonna die or something!"

Amanda tightens her lips and narrows her gaze towards Sucy. "Time out, Constanze. Pause the stopwatch." Constanze, with a small device of her own design, nods and presses a button on the side. "Sucy, were there any mushrooms involved?"

"No," Sucy answers dryly, "there were not."

Amanda brightens. "See, Akko? Nothin' to worry about." At the sight of Atsuko's unusually _peeved_ expression, however, she backs off. "Now, okay, okay. I'll give it a rest. You won't eat this one candy."

" _Finally,_ " Akko gasps, a stanbot at her heel. "Does this mean we can move on and start back the timer, already?" Constanze nods once, holding her stopwatch tightly.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever..." Amanda waves them off as she steps towards empty bags of candy. In a murmur, she asks, "Jasminka, can I see that for a sec...?"

The bag is offered, and Jasminka answers, "Sure," through a cheek of chocolate.

Lotte purses her lips. Amanda only had that look when... "She— She's going to fit that handful in Akko's mouth, isn't she?" she whispers to Sucy.

"I sure hope so."

"Sucy!" Lotte, who's had enough of this by now (crusty soil be damned), barks, "Akko! Behind you!"

A second too late. If anything, Akko's surprise and swivel of her head seemed to have _assisted_ Amanda, who now stands proud with her hands on her hips. And poor Akko is left to garble furiously on a mouthful of candy. "Now swallow that interest, Akko! That's what happens when you waste too much time being a little baby!"

Half of it is swallowed. Half of it is spat out. "Oh are you a bank-teller now, Aman- _dah!_ _Da-aHCK. Aughchh!_ F-Fucking— _Sucy,_ I SWEAR!"

Through a pursed smirk, Sucy drawls, "What?" Feeble fireworks spew out of Akko's throat, fizzling out before they hit the grass. "You're always a hothead."

"Not. Funny," Akko wheezes, holding her chest. She glares at Amanda, who can only stand still, eyes wide. "Y-You..."

"W-What?!"

As Amanda backs a step away from the seething witch, Sucy whispers to Lotte, "You _might_ want to step back for this..." She ignores Lotte's panicked hiss and says, "Amanda! By the way, it doesn't have anything to do with mushrooms, _but_ I did slip some moss I found in the bathroom."

"You tell me this _now?!_ Sucy—! _Afugh!_ " Amanda is tackled to the ground in an instant. Their brawl resembles tossing snakes with Akko pinning Amanda by the jaw, neck and back, and Amanda (understandably) writhing.

Within seconds, Amanda bucks Akko off, but finds herself wrenched back by her shoulders. Sparks fly as Akko snarls, tears evaporating from her steaming face, "You are not getting away from this Amanda!"

"It's not my fault you're a _FUCKING BAD STU—!_ "

 **— — — — — — — — — —** **  
**

"Shit…"

It's only when you round the corner do you hear the swearing and rustling of a bush. Your steps slow as you investigate, eyes to the next column that lines the outskirts of the courtyard. You arch a brow and find a boot. A few more steps forward.

You find Professor Ursula almost completely _sunk_ in a bush, wrestling with its leaves and twigs to find the proper footing. Which she doesn't. Especially since she can't _see,_ what with her hat tipped over across her eyes. Her glasses lay at your feet, and you scoop them up carefully.

You clear your throat and your light, humored smile away, which immediately eases her scuffle with the shrubbery. "You mind explaining why you're brawling with a plant, professor?"

Slowly, as to not completely submerge herself, Ursula lifts the brim of her hat. Her red eyes—like those of a ruby—find yours, and a light blush tints her cheeks. "I had a little tumble…" She surrenders a hand and asks, "Mind helping me up, madam?" You tighten your brows and watch her for a moment. Ursula grins cheekily, and in a warm, low tone, she promises, "I won't pull you in. I learned that the last time."

Finally, a smile breaks you, and you pull her out of the bush. She shivers and brushes off the leaves and twigs, then fixes her hat. "I've never met anyone who's so athletic only to find themselves caught on the floor," you remark, handing over her glasses.

Ursula dusts them off with a light chuckle, then slips them on. She also fishes her binder from deep inside the bush, her hand firm on the column—which, you assume, wasn't a precaution she took beforehand. "It's not for a lack of trying. I really don't like kicking the back of my own heels… It's why I wear boots instead of heels."

"I had a hunch," you say. She scoffs playfully, and you follow her down the columns. You eye her and her beauty, only for your attention to focus on the leaf caught in her hood. 

As you flick it out (another thing for your own sanity), Ursula brushes off some dirt from the corner of her binder. "I don't think I've seen this much preparation put into the Halloween dinner in a while. Diana's done well organizing the whole thing."

"Yes, she has. Though I wouldn't expect anything less from her," you agree. "She's good with keeping things in order, and the students all listen to her—except maybe Miss Kagari."

"Oh yeah," Ursula says through a laugh. "She's probably the one exception. And there's times Diana listens to her instead…"

"Yes…and it gets her in trouble."

She nods. "Of course, though I think she's been able to rein in some of Akko's tendencies. She's not nearly as rough as she was in the first year."

"You mean a 'hellion?'"

"Tsk." Ursula rolls her eyes but smiles all the same. "You know she never meant any trouble."

You shake your head and retort, "You're too _soft_ on her. Atsuko is trouble, otherwise I wouldn't have had to search for my wand during Easter— _in_ an egg, may I remind you." Ursula only laughed into her hand; she _did_ assist Miss Kagari in the endeavor, after all.

"I haven't the faintest clue as to what you're talking about," she giggles.

"Oh, of course you don't."

Ursula folded her arms across her binder and rubbed her shoulder with one hand. "Speaking of holidays, are you looking forward to the dinner on Friday?"

You feel your face grow soft as your eyes lock onto hers, and you nod. "The night's always a nice break, and even I have to admit that. Though…I'm not excited for the conversations."

"Like you ever join them. You always just sit at the end of the table and drink your tea."

You shrug. "It's a nice way to spend the night."

"'Nice' as is _fulfilling,_ or 'nice' as in _content?_ "

You pause and think. "Aren't they the same thing? I could've sworn…"

"No," Ursula sighs, "they're not. You just don't allow yourself any distractions."

She watches you, and you chuckle. The number of times Ursula had stolen your attention—from the side of your desk to across the way—is dumbfounding. "Then _how,_ " you ask, voice low as your gut purrs, "would you explain why I let you stay by my side, miss? _You_ are quite the distraction."

Her smile deepens as does her blush. She kicks a small rock out of the way, and the two of you stroll closer together. "Well, then I'm glad I was planning on disrupting your schedule anyway—before I got caught in the bush. But that worked itself out, didn't it?"

"I would say…" you murmur.

"And…I was going to ask you—"

_BOOM!_

Even despite the bellow of noise being from across the courtyard and out into the field, it alone shudders the ground. Both of you stumble into the nearest column. Your book topples to the ground as you catch Ursula (who's not going to fall into another bush, dammit); her hands clip the sides of your hips before she snatches stone, and her toned yet lithe body presses against yours. Before either of you can ask out of your stupor, you hold her by her torso once the _second_ round of explosives is set off.

Crackles of light flare into the sky from the same spot in the fields, and you blink. _Fireworks._ Spelling out...

Your face grows a beet red as you read it, and your conversation is flung out of the window.

 _BLOODY JACKASS SHIT!_ sparks in the air.

"What, in the absolute _hell,_ is that?!"

Ursula swallows and shakes her head, outright baffled. "Anne, come on. Let's see what those girls are doing." She peels herself off of you and charges ahead, leaving you to whisk your book, and her binder, off the ground and storm after her.

"I swear if it's the Red Team _again._ "

"It probably is," Ursula says, and you hear the concern in her voice, "but something's going on. They wouldn't do anything like that intentionally." Her chin jerks to the sky, where the words had already vanished. You sigh, only because you know it's true. They're a handful, and rowdy, and boisterous, but not vulgar—in front of professors, anyway.

Several meters away, both of you pause and look out onto the scene. In the grass, there's light smoke surrounded by your students—dazed and confused. You blink and squint. _Is that...?_

"O- _OH MY GOD, AKKO!_ " Ursula shouts, and she darts forward. You rush after her, and the absurdity of it all only multiplies.

Atsuko is in the center of the mess, sputtering and hacking sparks, absolutely covered in ash. She's the only one flat on the ground, vibrating. Miss O'Neill is one of two other students with black soot coating her, though it's only from the back, and Lotte is splattered with flecks at the front; her face, however, is caked with mud. And now Ursula is another covered in ash from cradling Miss Kagari, asking her if she was alright in a jumble of words. 

There's a groan, thankfully, and Atsuko pats her cheek. She then grins, and through a rough croak, whispers, "You stupid cunt."

Everyone freezes, and you're particularly winded. Had these girls changed their tune about vulgarity?! Miss Manbavaran, under her breath, mumbles from beside you, "So the fire-cracker serum _didn't_ negate the moss..."

_Eh?_

"Wh-What is going _on_ here?!" you snap, both hands on your hips.

Miss Kagari jolts forward. Her voice is sharpened and distorted with more gravel as she juts her middle finger to you: "Fuck y-you you stupid, dumb _bitch._ " 

Ursula's eyes are wide when Atsuko slumps back into her shoulder, and then she looks to you from over her student's head. Atsuko's drooling into her uniform, and you meet Ursula's eyes. You blink and it hits you. "You were right, it came back this semester..." she sighs. "I'm going to take her back to the nurse and tell her that Akko ingested some of Boorish."

"Yes, please," you say. She gets to her feet with Akko in her arms, still mumbling and hissing obscenities to her mentor. Once Ursula is quite the distance away, almost inside, you rub your forehead, then stare at the five students left. "Explain. Now. Any of you."

Lotte, who'd been cleaning her glasses, presses them back to the bridge of her nose. She's particularly cross, and points firmly to both Miss O'Neill and Miss Manbavaran. "Amanda blew up Akko after Sucy experimented on her again."

"Way to throw us under the _bus,_ Lotte!" Amanda snaps.

She whirls around and hisses, "I told you not to! And I said that you can hurt Akko with your experiments, Sucy!"

"Yeah, that's true," Miss Manbavaran notes. "This one was more intense that I thought. Although, I didn't force a dozen candies in her mouth—it was supposed to be only one."

Your eyes follow the conversation because, for the life of you, you can't fathom an appropriate response other than grabbing the two of them by the backs of their necks and bashing their heads together. And that, you know, is not appropriate for a professor.

"You— _You_ didn't say she was going to blow up!" 

"I didn't have to. The rules of the game you were playing was one candy at a time."

You feel something build up, which twitches the corner of your eye and grinds your teeth.

"Well, why'd Akko agree to play the game if she knew she was gonna pop?!"

"I don't know, ask _her_ that! She's dumb. And you also challenged her."

"She _could've_ said no! I only called her a coward!"

Okay. That's it. You've found the appropriate response: "ALRIGHT! SHUT IT!" Both snap their jaws shut and watch you. "The rest of you can go to Atsuko if you'd like. You two, O'Neill and Manbavaran, are going to stay so I can tell you what you're going to be doing on Halloween." Miss O'Neill grimaces, and Miss Manbavaran exhales slowly as the rest of the girls follow Ursula's path at a brisk, concerned pace. Once they leave, you hiss, "Now...I have something that will replace your dinner that night."

"N- _No_ dinner?!" Amanda gasps before she can help it.

"Yes. Considering this whole ordeal started with consuming things Akko _shouldn't have,_ I'm led to believe you don't deserve the feast. I will arrange the usual menu for you two beforehand." Miss O'Neill sinks in herself, sheepish and guilt-ridden. Sucy, too, appears sorry in her way, though she's always been a hard book to read. "Now...while the rest of the girls are enjoying their night—" Your eyes are hard on them, and they gulp in unison, braving what you have in store.

And they don't like the answer one bit, though it's a served just dessert regardless.

**— — — — — — — — — —**

The lecture hall was quick to empty, being that it was the lunch period. You organized your binder of notes before clipping it shut, then flicked your wand to the windows. The long curtains closed as you strode out the door, your mind on pressing matters: grading exams, preparing lessons for the next semester… All things desk-work. And as you walked down the hall—back straight and binder pressed to your side—, the students broke their crowding to give you the room. You thought to yourself about the curious leak in one of the bathrooms, and how it grew a peculiar moss from the corner.

Which spat at and threatened the janitor when he attempted to mop the mess.

To put it lightly, the bathroom had been condemned of use for a week. That wasn't a good thing, seeing as it was the dorm wing's only bathroom on that floor.

In the midst of your thoughts, your attention jerked and was pulled to the door you approached. You paused as a handful of teams strode out, eager to get to their food; already, their mid-day chatter had started with only a few brief instances of "Oh, afternoon, Professor Finnelan," or "Hi, professor," to which you nodded and gave a polite response of your own.

You lingered in the doorway once the traffic ceased, your stare caught on the podium. Or, rather, a couple of students and… _her._

"So, for the paper due," Miss Grayson, of the orange team, asked, "do we _need_ to find three separate sources? I-I'm just worried because I've searched the library, and I can't find enough on my topic…"

"Yeah, me too," another student—a first year—said, toying with her grey sash. 

Professor Ursula nodded from the podium and answered, "Well, the library isn't… _small_. You can be creative with how you use your, er, the books you find. But…well, it is due at the end of the week, right?" The girls nodded. Ursula sighed and tapped the podium's surface. 

You softened. You remembered the first few semesters of your own career, where the balance between discipline and lax restrictions was grey. Although, you found your footing rather quickly, with your mother's own ways in the back of your mind: a belt in hand, which really wasn't necessary, though the authoritative voice was admittedly so…

"Can you girls find enough stuff from the sources you do have to cover the nine points?"

Both nodded vigorously. "Yeah. We're just struggling to find the third one to get the last three. I have my other six already written," Miss Grayson said.

"Okay. Then you two can use just the two—" you blinked, somewhat surprised as the girls relaxed their shoulders— "as long as you get those last points in. And, uh, no repeats."

"Thank-you, Professor Ursula!" they chimed in unison.

"We'll get the essay done on time!"

"I'll get those points done, I promise!"

You side-stepped as the pair strode out of the room, and Ursula's kind words ("Okay. H-Have a good afternoon!") followed them. Once they had disappeared around the corner, you turned back to Ursula, enamored. The sun, which had hit your lecture hall too intensely, highlighted her profile in a way that could only be described as _immaculate_ , and that didn't even include how it outlined the shapes and curves of her uniform. Her brow was furrowed as she rummaged through her pile—well, _assortment_ was a better word—of papers, the lens of her oval glasses catching some of the sunlight. 

Office be damned, you stepped into the room. "Unorganized papers, again Professor Callistis?"

She jumped in place and whirled to you. "O-Oh…" Her breath fluttered, and she relaxed with a gentle grin. "Uh, y-yeah, is it really that obvious?"

"Perhaps…"

Ursula swallowed, and she aligned the pages, then flipped over the top few. And then re-centered them. Then flipped over a few in the middle. "I've never been as clean about my papers and things as you," she commented shyly.

"Really?" you asked, easing closer to the podium one step at a time. 

She nodded, and said, "Yeah. I drove some of my professors up the wall over it… Had this one, Professor Ajiah—she was a _horror_ anyway. But, uh, she checked my dorm room unannounced and…"

You couldn't help but arch your brow. "And she found…?"

Ursula shrugged, her smile somewhat wry. "Well, it was _finals,_ so I couldn't be bothered." You cocked your head to the side. "Just some papers and books all over the desk, bunk unkempt, broom on the floor, the…dresser…tipped over against the bed."

"What in the _world,_ Ursula?"

"I _knew_ your head would've spun!" she laughed. With a shake of her head, Ursula said, "I swear she had it out for me. It was _finals,_ and the second-year at that with those spring exams… She could've waited until I moved the furniture back around!"

You laughed quietly with her. "I would've wrung your neck. A _dresser_ tipped over?"

"Too many drawers opened, I suppose," Ursula replied. "And I was busy trying to find my wand."

"Your _wand._ "

She nodded. "God, I was so pissed. My, uh… My friend had my wand, apparently. And when she told the professor, _nope,_ still got a week's worth of scrubbing bathrooms. Just me."

As Ursula gathered her papers and stepped away from the podium, you said, "Oh, you poor thing."

Eyes rolled, and a meek smile grew. "I know!" she hummed. "That woman was such a _cunt—_ " you laughed, caught off-guard by how smoothly she spoke, dropping a seed for your imagination— " I swear. Hated teaching. Hated students. _Even_ hated the other professors. But she coddled this stupid cactus that she kept in her room, I guess."

The two of you strolled out of the lecture hall, and while you were quite invested in her words, a scene played in the back of your mind. One where…in your bed, you had her. "You guess?"

One where she'd say the most sinful of things in the smooth, coy way that she always did. Where you swore the most vile of obscenities would fly out of her mouth, and it'd sound like a melody. A rhythm to move to…

"Yeah. Like I said, she hated everyone. So…some students nicked it off the windowsill and perched it on the Jennifer Statue," Ursula murmured.

"And what'd she do after that?"

Ursula's smile widened, and you caught her white teeth. "She quit after a month once she had the Blue Team rewrite the index for all of the books in the library… And they did do a good job, considering we still use it. But, by Jennifer, those girls looked like they had the life drained out of them."

"The Blue Team?" you asked, still enchanted by her storytelling. "I would've thought they'd abide by the rules. For all the years I've been here, the Blue Teams have always been top students."

"I know, and they were. They were a year below me— You might've taught them actually, if you started here the semester after I left. Or, well, Stacy Greens?" You nodded slowly. The name _did_ sound familiar. "She was a huge linguist. I think she was the one who decided to add the three categories in the index."

Oh, you remembered her. "That does sound like Miss Greens," you remarked. "I remember her. I was impressed by how well she translated runes. I've yet to have a student do so…though I know there'll be others."

"Yeah, she was really…Anyway, they were really good students, but everybody just hated Ajiah that much. I don't think any of the other professors did anything about it, but I know they didn't blame them."

"How curious." The two of you were at a languid pace, one comfortable as you strolled the halls—a stark contrast to the few students booking it to class with a fire in their step. "Is that part of the reason why you're soft on the students?"

Ursula thought for a moment, then said, "Maybe. I know I'm never going to be able to teach how you do. I don't really have the discipline. But…well, I've always thought that having at least one professor be lenient helps them with their other subjects, and I know I'm mostly teaching electives right now, so none of it _should_ be difficult."

"That is true." You hummed quietly, then asked, "How do you like teaching? You have one semester in your resume, almost two."

"I, uh—" Ursula nodded and held her papers tighter to her chest— "I do like it a lot, actually. Sometimes the class gets a little loud, but it's, it's nice. I also think I just love Luna Nova in its entirety. I could spend the rest of my days here and I, uh, wouldn't mind it."

"But you're so young, Ursula. Surely you would want to spend a little more outside the academy?"

She chuckled, if a bit solemn, and said, "I've been all over the world, actually. Every single continent. All of Europe, most of Asia. The United States and Canada, too, and some of Africa and South America… Oh, and even the Caribbean."

"Really?"

"Uh huh." Ursula grinned and chewed her lip. "But, I don't know. This is the only place I've wanted to _stay_ at. And the observatory is just… I saw it as a kid, but I never expected it to be as homey as it is."

"How quaint." You then remembered the bathroom and sighed. "I love this place too, though it certainly has its quirks. You just reminded me of the moss problem in one of the bathrooms. Keeps making rude gestures and calling the girls pigs or twigs."

"No in between?" she asked dryly.

You shook your head and breathed a slight, though sad sad laugh. "Not that I'm aware of. Also called the janitor a, well, _'cocksucker.'_ " 

Ursula snorted into her hand. "Quite rude… Is the moss this yellow-green? With little purple streaks?"

"W-Why…" You blinked, surprised. "Why yes, it is… How did you know that?"

She shrugged and said, "I've heard about it being in this school. I think the source of it is in some of the dungeons…" The two of you stood in the hall as you stared, in awe and simply dumbfounded. "It's a Boorish Mat, then. I-I've read a lot on them while I studied here."

"Really?"

"Y-Yeah. I actually, uh, spent a lot of time in the library during my last two years—especially the last semester, I was almost obsessed…" She paused, then said, "I guess that's how I qualify to teach all those electives. I've at least read the introduction of just about every book in the library—except for the mathematics and ones written in things other than english and french."

This…woman… Not only was she beautiful—and when had she pulled back her hair, again? Your eyes traced face, neck and collar as she fiddled with the papers, humble and shy. "Do you…know the book the moss is in?"

Ursula nodded. "Oh, yeah. It's in twelve, actually. I-I know the one that's the best, though. Do you want me to get it?"

"Please. I have to get to my office, but we can deal with the moss once you do."

"Okay," she said. "I'll go now."

Ursula strode back down the hall to the library, and your cheeks warmed before, "Wait, professor," popped out. She paused and looked over her shoulder. You rubbed your collar, the bolo tie suddenly a little _too_ tight. "You're… You look nice with your hair pulled back."

The blush that scorched her face only added to the heat of yours. She smiled coyly, and said, "Oh, thank-you, Professor Finnelan." With a soft giggle, she turned back and continued down the hall, leaving you to linger, flustered with yourself. You were lucky to have the hall empty of students; you avoided the same attention that many of the brought upon themselves from their attempts at any sort of compliment.

You tightened your hold around the binder.

_I'm just going to go to my office…_

**— — — — — — — — — —**

Each and every lantern in the room is cupped by an enchanted pumpkin, faces carved for the flames to shine their cozy light. The cafeteria is set with long tables of fresh meals, which feeds the atmosphere with rich and warm smells—all made by scratch, courtesy of the goblins. The students are lively as they pile food onto their plates, laughing and chatting through the festivities. In the center, small tables are scattered for each of the teams, though you find that the colors of their sashes are intermixed from all over. 

You stand by one of the outlining pillars, watching to ensure that their excitement doesn't manifest into an extreme. Though, you're not worried, so you hold a small plate in one hand, and a steaming tea cup in the other—which you spiked with a little scotch, just for a kick. Even though the specialist that Miranda referred you to all those years ago _said_ that alcohol wasn't a thing to be wary of, you still take the measure to avoid it with the exception of these events. And how couldn't you? The students are enjoying themselves. The staff—set at another long table at the end of the hall, overlooking the students—are jovial.

Even Samantha, who walks to your side, is in a good mood with some cider at hand. After a little snort, she says, "Some of the teams are trying to out-eat each other with the pies."

"Nelson's not going to be happy..."

"That's what's funny," Samantha chortles. "She's hoarded three of them to keep the girls away." You eye the staff's table, and sure enough, Nelson is half-deep in her jug of whiskey with three pies—a pecan and two pumpkin, you presume—stacked on her plate.

And speaking of over-stuffed plates, your eyes trail to one of the student tables where Ursula sits among the teams, listening intently to their stories, and asking their questions with a mellow charm. With _two_ plates brimmed with just about everything that was laid out—two others set aside, empty.

Samantha sighs beside you, watching Ursula with a chewed cheek. "To be that young again... Although, I doubt I would've been able to keep the stomach she has at _thirteen_ with all the food she eats."

"I don't think I would've either," you hum, swallowing once Ursula's gaze dances to yours. It's only for a moment, but it sends your heart skipping nonetheless. Her attention was torn away once Akko leapt against the back of her chair, springing an abrupt hug onto her professor—one that's reciprocated with a light smile... You blink, startled. "Hmm?"

"I said, part of it is probably you having her lug all your books around."

"Well," you breathe, " _she_ can carry them, so..."

"Uh huh," Samantha teases. "It's okay to say she's your little secretary, Anne."

"Secretary..."

Before you can ponder on the thought for long, Samantha's amused glee interrupts you: "Oh! Akko's eating her food!" And indeed she is, shoveling Yorkshire puddings one after the other as Ursula surrenders her seat with a chuckle and a nod. Her eyes drift to you, and you set your cup flat on the plate so you can smooth your uniform with your one hand. As Ursula navigates across the room, you hear a huff beside you. "She looks different tonight..."

You blink. She does. Her uniform fits her as usual, though... Your eyes drift to her chest, and your gut coils with warmth. "Yes..." you manage through a _slight_ giddiness. "She does."

"Whatever's she's done with her dress, around the students?"

"Oh, well, Samantha. I don't think any of the girls noticed anything different." And why would they? Only you look at her the way you do, noticing the ever slight changes Ursula fashions. Except for Samantha, who has a nose for gossip and an eye for anything suspicious—probably how she was able to avoid paying the government for so long, knowing the _smell_ of a damning letter, and a certain knock on a door, to avoid it.

But you cannot simply imagine yourself avoiding the smell that hits you. An aroma. You turn back towards it, transfixed. _Ursula's_ aroma. Sweet and flowery. Strong, but not mind-numbing. You're breathless by the time she joins your side, too far gone to care about Samantha's bewildered sputters. _What perfume is that?_

"Good evening, madam," Ursula purrs, her voice dripping with honey.

"O-Oh, uh, yes. Evening," you mumble slowly, still dazed. _I don't think I even know the brand._

Ursula's smile flicks to Samantha, and she says, "Bonjour, professor."

"I'm going to get another drink," Samantha nearly gasps. She scowls as she trudges away, towards the staff table where the ciders are _not._

You feel the weight in your hands lessen dramatically before an audible grimace. Your grin is smug as you watch Ursula cough, handing you back your tea. "What liquor store sells _that_ shit of a drink?" she breathes.

"I don't know," you murmur, lifting your cup for a sip. "But it certainly helps the issue of a tea-thief running around. You _know_ there's a thief? How much tea is drunk behind my back?" She rolls her eyes, and a smile is stretched across her fine lips—the same you want to capture, just to know how soft they are against your own. But you continue anyway, ignoring the urge. There are students around, of course, which would dampen your mood. "And you know what?"

"What?" Ursula asks, her tone warm as she leans against the column. Your eyes briefly stray along her collarbone.

"It's only ever _mine!_ None of the other professor's!" You realize what's different. As she laughs, you take your sip if only to mask your wandering eyes. Your gut flips vigorously. Your eyes venture _far,_ and you find black lace. Your gaze then follow the knuckles of her hands as she presses them coyly against her mouth, and those red, fiery eyes hold your attention.

She's not wearing her bodysuit. And while the difference is rather subtle—you do doubt the students noticed anything different—, now that you know...you can't help it. Pick apart the little things. Picture the possibilities that are underneath.

You set down the tea on your plate, and quietly, you ask, "Do you know anything about the thief, miss?"

Ursula purses her lips in thought. "Maybe...a little bit."

"Oh?" That perfume is overwhelming, on top of her gaze, on top of her body—or, at least, what your thoughts manage to craft. "Do tell."

"Well," she starts quietly, her eyes drifting languidly across the room. "She gets a bit peckish throughout the day, and the opportunity is there, so... And she only drinks a little bit, not a lot. Her work is very important—" Ursula turns and furrows her brows seriously with a nod— "and requires a lot of stolen tea."

You raise your eyebrows. "Is that so...? Then what is this 'very important work' of hers?"

She bites her lip with an alluring grin. "The thief has to make sure," Ursula says, her hand finding the crook of your elbow, "that you are not going to keel over—"

"By...the.. _Nines,_ Ursula."

"—and die over your desk from your ailment."

Through a humored chuckle that only Ursula can rise from you, you ask, "Oh and _what's_ that?"

"Your addiction. To desk-work."

You shake your head. "No such thing. I assure you, I have a healthy balance between my desk and everything else."

"The podium in the lecture halls don't count."

You relent with a labored sigh. "Alright. Alright. You got me. But doesn't that just mean the thief isn't that good at her job?"

Ursula scoffs and folds her arms, stripping her hand away from you. "I— She tries _very_ hard. But it's like working a brick wall instead of a door."

"A brick— Now you've done it."

"What?" Oh...her laugh. How it fiddles with your heart.

"Are you calling me dense, Ursula?"

She shakes her head softly. "No, just difficult," she humors. "I can still find a way through a brick wall."

You arch your brow. "Not over or around?"

Ursula tilts her head to the side. "There's no fun doing that. I want to make my own little doorway."

"Why? So you can go in and out?"

"I can lock it, if I want." She pauses, her eyes set to yours. And a mischievous grin spreads. "And I'll have to make those tea runs _sometimes._ " You eye her from your teacup, both wildly entertained and incredibly swooned. You can't even find a retort, not with her eyes stripping you apart like that, with a hunger that slowly etches itself into you...

"Oh you two, why don't you come over here?"

Both of you jerk and turn towards the staff table. Miranda, as sweet as ever, waves the both of you over. The cafeteria is quiet, aside from mulling conversations. You didn't even notice when most of the students had left, leaving only a few teams.

Ursula detaches herself from the pillar and strides ahead. She looks over her shoulder as she lingers, and says, "Come on. I know you want to."

"And how's that?" you murmur.

With her voice barely above a whisper, she brings you with her: "You have that look."

**— — — — — — — — — —**

It's only when the night ages to the witching hour do you ever leave your work. And that Friday was no different. Although, the key to your office was heavier than usual, and the night was bitter against your back. You shivered against the chills down your spine as you strolled down the corridor, your thoughts a slow whirlwind.

The ghosts of arguments rested heavy on your shoulders, and all you wanted was to ward them off. That, and to get away from Miss Kagari's antics for just _one_ night—though the girl never failed to be a handful at a late hour. Another run of stolen pastries, and another time of catching said student red-handed. Then add Ursula, who happened onto the scene with a stumble, and it all folded into charged disputes. You still didn't know when Akko slipped away, but by the time either of you noticed, it hadn't mattered anyway.

A fire was lit within Ursula that night. A spark of confidence and tenacity. Untamed. Intense, even.

And?

Even despite your own stubbornness to match, your chest jolted again and again throughout the time yelling in the hall. You liked it. Seeing her that way. Not antagonistic, but vibrant. Steadfast. Spirited. It wasn't something anybody saw often. Hell, maybe Atsuko snuck away from _Ursula_ rather than _you._

A lengthy sigh escaped you, and as you slowed to a halt, your eyes drifted towards the tall windows to your right. Speak of the devil. You watched for a moment. Then, as if lured by a string, you strode to the nearest double doors. The breeze was colder than if hell froze over, you swore, but the cigarette's smoke warmed you with a single inhale.

Ursula leaned against the short wall of the courtyard, the smoldering tip of her cigarette vivid against the mature night's sky. Her voice was low and as drained as you felt, but you heard the rich fluctuation of her words (which, strangely, was only present when the two of you were alone): "I'm assuming you just got off the clock?"

"I'm surprised you're still awake. There's not a star in the sky, let alone the moon."

She breathed a laugh and rubbed her forehead tiredly. So that night, the last few hours, weighed heavy on her too. "I know," she murmured, "it's nice... Sometimes I can't stand watching the stars or the moon—you know it was supposed to be full tonight?"

"I don't doubt it," you answered. "I just never expected an _astrology_ teacher to be so relaxed at the thought of the sky blank."

"...don't you mean astronomy?"

"Oh was that it?" 

A smile relaxed her face, and she chuckled at your very poor joke as if it was actually _funny._ Ursula pulled out a spare cigarette and said, "I saved you yours."

You took it. "And how did you know to save mine? Or, well, that I'd come by?"

She hummed as she lit it for you with the tip of her wand. As you inhaled your first drag—damn your lungs, because you _needed_ this—, Ursula watched you with that same smile. "You have a look."

You quirked a brow and blew the smoke to the side. "'A look?'" you asked innocently.

Ursula nodded, something so sweet and smoldering at the same time. "Yeah. Whenever you want to see me."

"Ah, really now? Even after a screaming match?"

Her next few words caressed you, if playfully: "Oh but I think our best conversations come from after, _madam._ Especially when you need to unwind after being so overextended all day."

Your scoff was rather blithe, unable to mask your humored grin. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just one with my work."

"A workaholic, you mean," she murmured. You only chuckled, and the two of you stood for a moment, quiet. It was nice, being able to just _be_ for a spell. Ursula flicked the excess of her cigarette before gently asking, "But do you work so much as a distraction?"

You hummed. With the cigarette picked from your lips, you answered, "Perhaps. I've always been one to, well... _hyper-focus,_ I suppose you'd put it."

"And before teaching, it was...?"

"Cocaine." The answer escaped you swiftly, and while you didn't _expect_ to be blunt, it didn't feel wrong either. Ursula nodded, eyes to the field. "My mentor at Oxford gave me a vial one evening. Said it would give a little kick," you explained. The young woman turned to you, intrigued. "And it did, though I don't think she expected to literally kick me out of the property a semester later."

"I feel like it always starts off that way," Ursula murmured. "It's never supposed to be a _thing._ It was just supposed to be that one time, until it isn't."

A flicker of confusion unsettled you. Then again, you weren't _entirely_ surprised. "You've drabbled as well?"

Ursula swayed her head with a brief exhale. "Drabbled is a nice way of putting it. ...makes me sound better than I was."

"I see." Because you truly understood. And, in all honesty, _drabbled_ is an understatement for you too. It undermined many things about those years wasted of your life. "What do you do for it?"

She shrugged. "Stay up and watch the night, regardless of how full it is. I can't really sleep, but teaching helps. It's the only time I can't focus on myself."

"And Miss Kagari?"

Ursula nodded slowly with a slight grin. "She reminds me a lot of how I was as a student here. I didn't get into nearly as much trouble, and I never struggled with magic to her extent...but, she does. And, what's more, she's a lot more capable than I am in a lot of ways." You tilted your head curiously. She eyed you, and said, "For one, she's sure of herself..."

"Which lands her many detentions."

"'Which lands her many detentions...'" Ursula echoed, amused. "Yes, it certainly does. But it's a good quality to have. I sometimes wonder if I could've avoided it _all_ if I knew myself better. But then, I don't want to think about if Akko fell to the same trap, so I end up being...stuck."

"Well," you murmured, "I will say that, from what I've seen, you manage yourself very well." You were almost lost in her eyes as they searched for whatever truth you saw in her. You felt yourself soften, and said, "Especially as a professor. The students have always admired you. I doubt they have any inkling of your life before teaching."

Ursula gave a humble laugh, and her hand found its way on your bicep. It was warm against that cold night, even through your uniform. "You know..." she whispered, so sincerely that you practically _felt_ her words bleed from her touch. "I think that the students admire you too, they're just a bit intimidated."

" _Me?_ Intimidating?" you humored. "I wouldn't have known."

"Honest professor," she chuckled. "I highly doubt that you aren't better for them than me."

Your heart thumped an extra beat as she squeezed lightly. "As do I with you. They don't talk about me in the same way—and they try to be quiet when I'm in earshot, but they don't, so I know it's true."

"It's _because_ you're intimidating, madam," Ursula said. Her gaze was layered, and for a second, all you wanted to do was pull her closer by the small of her back. But you didn't, largely because you where wary of the two sticks that could tarnish a uniform.

So instead, with a warm tone, you asked, "And so how do I fix that, miss?"

"For a start," she replied, her voice a rhythmic hum. Her hand travelled, and it snaked up your collar, her fingers hooked around your bolo. "You..." Ursula whispered quietly, her eyes unmoving from your own. "Just need..." You felt the tie loosen and a button pop. "To relax..."

The breeze chipped the skin at the base of your neck. Your collar slacked, and the bolo tie rested low. Yet you didn't mind. Once again, Ursula hexed you. There was an urge to lean in, though the trouble in her eyes—whatever conflict raged within them—persuaded you differently. She broke her gaze to take a drag from her cigarette, and she blew a thick waft of smoke towards the fields.

You noted the slight tremble in her hands, and the way she held herself as her thoughts slowly engrossed her. Ursula had a busy mind ever since you knew her—reminiscent, though, rather than abstracted. And solemn... Very, very solemn when she didn't wear her smile for you.

Quietly, with a sick inkling, you asked, "You never saw a specialist, did you?"

Ursula shook her head as she stepped away, down the path. She looked over her shoulder, beckoning you to follow. As you did, she replied, "No. Headmistress knew there wasn't a reason to."

"And why not?"

Her smile was somber. "There isn't one."

"Ursula..." you hissed, dumbstruck. "What do you mean?"

"Just that." She frowned with another drag, eyes to the pathway. "I'm not... _addicted_ anymore. I don't feel any urge, or need, or want. But—" Ursula sighed. She exhaled the smoke shortly, gathering her words. "If...I go anywhere near it, I will die."

Your lungs breathed a sharp fire with the cigarette between your lips. "Don't tell me..."

She waved you off with a half-hearted grin. "It's... It's okay. I accepted this years ago. There isn't anything I can do except—" Ursula shrugged, so nonchalantly— "wait."

"But will you? Do anything about it, I mean?" you asked with a pounding chest. You were sick to the stomach—and not because you were scared, really, but because you saw yourself. That tone. Those words. You spoke similarly before. Except, you never really _smiled._ Not like hers which aimed to reassure. Your scowl usually softened instead, just to get people out of your way. Regardless, you recognized the same pain in that weak grin.

In short, you weren't scared—not really—but _terrified._ And you watched Ursula with her light smile. "I..." It flickered, growing deeper, warming you. Those red eyes watched you, and Ursula hummed, "I think so. I've been thinking of something, anyway. I'm just not ready yet. I don't have any gut for it."

The two of you slowed to another halt. "And, when you do?" you asked, eyes on her.

She hummed and glanced out to the field. After a long thought, Ursula watched you again, then murmured, "You'll know." She could've kissed you then, with how intoxicatingly hypnotic her eyes were. And how close she was, where she played with the ends of your bolo tie. But, no. She could've kissed you then, if Ursula wasn't cursed, nor unsure.

So you let her step away. In a blink of an eye, her cigarette butt erupted in a quick flame—all in the palm of her hand. Ursula closed her hand, then smoothed it against the other. Her eyes drifted back to you, and she said, "Goodnight, professor."

"Goodnight, Professor Callistis," you hummed behind another drag. Ursula smiled before walking down the path to the observatory, slinking into the night. You watched her for a long few minutes, then pressed your cigarette against the rim of a nearby trash bin before disposing it. You turned towards nearest double-doors of the academy, and you nearly jumped. With a stern brow arched, you inquired, "Miss Jansson? Aren't you on patrol?"

Lotte Jansson _did_ jump by the doors with an audible swallow. "O-Oh, yes professor. I didn't realize it was just you and Professor Ursula. I just saw some witches, and my glasses are fogged—"

You stepped through the door that she held open and said, "No matter. I know you're not one to get yourself in trouble _on your own._ Is Miss Kagari still in her dorm, by any chance?"

As your student scrambled to keep up with your pace, she answered, "I-I think so? Did she get out?"

"Yes, she did." You sighed. It wasn't a surprise that your _other_ student's adventure was an independent one. Nevertheless, you turned to her and said, "I do believe curfew is soon, no? For the later patrols, I expect you to be getting to your rooms now."

Lotte took your hint and nodded in a rush. "Oh, thank-you professor. Have a good night, then."

"And you too, Miss Jansson," you replied, leaving her to walk briskly down the corridors, eager to just lay down and _rest_. At the same time, she left you to wonder about Ursula Callistis more, and linger in that hallway. You eyed what you could of the observatory through the windows in thought.

_"You'll know..."_

You pondered, and your knuckles grazed your neck where your collar was unusually lax. An invitation...was it? Or rather a promise? You tightened your lips, set your pace down the hall, and chewed the inside of your cheek.

If it was a promise, as you thought that night, you didn't want your heart to give out from the sheer shock of it alone.

**— — — — — — — — — —**

Amanda still doesn't understand why _this_ flour is so special, and why she was told to handle it so carefully, and why Sucy brought her gas mask, and why she couldn't just scrub the toilets with a toothbrush or something. Then again, _maybe_ listening to Professor Stick-up-her-butt would've been the right thing to do. But Professor Sick-up-her-butt was too anal about it, so Amanda didn't bother. And Professor Ursula wasn't there to coax the situation like she normally did—being worried about a fried Akko, and all—, so there was that.

"Come on, Sucy," she hisses through gritted teeth. Lugging the flour by the end of their brooms is also (probably) not a good idea, but Professor Finnelan isn't there with them, so it really doesn't matter.

Although, Sucy's mask does deter Amanda, especially when she answers with it on: "I get you want this done quickly, but you better not pull some shit right outside the cafeteria."

"Oh like _what?_ " Amanda rocks her broom experimentally, and...immediately, the bag of flour is flung into the wall. And the bag breaks. And the noise echoes down the hallway. And the flour _floomps!_ everywhere in a flurry of white. Amanda gets a face full of it while Sucy chortles from behind her mask, a full arm's length above her.

"Like that, you idiot."

Amanda blinks through her rapid coughs, eyes strained as she watches the double doors. Which are open down the corridor, and lead straight to the professors. "Oh shit..." It was _barely_ a swivel of her broom. She didn't _actually_ mean to _drop_ the flour. Flour... She sneezes the rest of the powder out of her nose, and suddenly everything is a haze. A gold tint blankets the corridor from top to bottom, and the world seems to hum all around her. Amanda turns over her shoulder.

"Have fun getting high off of impulse sand," Sucy says, clearly entertained as she flies at a meandering pace, eager to get her part of the deal done.

Amanda, meanwhile, decides that Professor Stick-up-her-butt doesn't know shit about this awesome flour—impulse sand, or whatever—and just thought it was _actually_ worse than scrubbing toilets. Which it so. Very. _Wasn't._ With a sure grin, she ignores the mess and points her wand to the window across from her. It opens with a confident swing, and out into the open air Amanda goes.

Carefree. Blissfully ecstatic. Absolutely, disproportionately, happy with her detention.

**— — — — — — — — — —**

As expected, Lukić left the dinner early, with the last few students. That, then there's how you can't bother with whatever the other professors chat about—things that never interested you in the slightest. Things outside of Luna Nova. Things…that aren't Ursula's hand climbing along your thigh from underneath the table, nor her quiet hum of a laugh as you finish your fool's joke. It is evidence, really, of her interest. You still can't find what's so intriguing when you look in the mirror every morning, and there's absolutely no way any of your attempts at humor would actually land otherwise.

Yet, she laughs, and you decide your somersaults in trying to grasp the idea isn't worth anything. Because Ursula Callistis _is_ interested in you, from the hand on your lap to the way she murmurs—voice dropped so the other, crowding conversations don't hear: "I don't think that's how brooms work."

"You mean to say that I've been plucking the straws at the end for no good reason?"

Not only does she laugh at your pitiful jokes, Ursula responds in kind! "I assure you, madam, that they have no relation to lawnmowers." She does! She really does! What a thought…

"Professor Callistis?"

You both turn towards Violet who nods to the windows; the sky is dark with no light, aside from the lanterns and sorcerer's stone. "Oh, y-yeah?" Ursula mumbles, taken aback by the sudden attention.

"You're all about astronomy, right?"

She blinks, and you sip on your third cup of tea—the first without scotch. "I suppose so."

The table is quiet aside from Nelson and Holbrooke's light conversation as Violet asks, "You have any input on why the moon isn't out on Halloween?"

"O-Oh." Ursula breathes a shy laugh and says, "Well, uh, the Nine Olde Witches turned off the lights?"

There's an elongated sigh from the table, and Susan mutters into her glass, "You and Anne have the absolute worst taste in humor."

"It's not that bad," you reply as you set your drained cup of tea down. "I've heard worse from the cardboard cut-out I saw regularly down in Oxford. And I'll have you know, it was of Rowan Atkinson." _That,_ you your satisfaction, rose a few more laughs than Ursula's. As it turns out, your days of mindlessly snorting cocaine would come in handy in conversations. Who. Knew.

"Oh _Anne!_ Do tell more about that old friend of yours," Violet giggles.

You glance at Ursula, who leans against her hand with a small smile. You sigh. "Well, it was from one of his performances on the fuzzy screen box—"

"Good _lord._ Even the most conventional of witches knows what a television set is. Or where you Amish?"

With arms crossed, you retort, "And what if I was? Point is, Mr. Atkinson had that turkey stuck on his head, and he never roused _one_ laugh from me. Not even when not even when some random drunk pissed at his feet mid-conversation."

Violet gawks, "You're _serious?!_ "

You nod. "Yeah. I don't lie, Professor Hopps. To the students nor my colleagues." Once again, for a brief spell, Ursula captures your attention. You think back to the many, many nights where a cigarette or two were shared, all those times when she listened and you talked—and, to be frank, you probably already told her about Rowen a dozen times. "I just have many stories to tell." 

"Very—"

A distant, soft _thump!_ interrupts the conversation. Nelson arches her brow from across the table and asks, "Some thunder or somethin'?"

You shake your head and turn behind you, towards a pair of doors. "No, that came from the hallway," you answer. "Students out of their rooms…"

"Oh, Anne," Miranda chuckles, waving you off. "Let them be. We can forgive a little bump in the night for Halloween." You sigh and sink back into your chair, guided by Ursula's hand around your wrist.

For a moment, it lingers, just long enough for you to meet her gaze, detached once again from the conversations across the table. And…her perfume. Her lips. Something sweet infests you as you breathe soundly, and you see the brief confusion in her eyes as well. No wonder. The room around you tints itself with gold, and through the windows, stars explode into the sky, so bright and comforting. A potion. It had to have been.

Everything about Ursula, though, steals you away. Her confusion is ignored—and so is yours—as she leans to your ear and whispers, "Do you want to get out of here?" Nelson's sudden holler doesn't catch you off-guard. Instead, you slowly nod, quite utterly entranced. The two of you glance at the other professors. They don't take notice, not with Nelson strangling the air as she animates her own story of her youth.

Slyly, Ursula steals your arm, and you rise carefully out of your seat. You follow her out the doors…

The hall is quiet, away from the growing, boisterous energy that Nelson's drunken tale provides. Through the tall windows where moonlight shines through, you see the speckle of stars across the dark sky. The lanterns down the corridor are dim, and there's not one fairy in sight. Nor student. Just Ursula. And her perfume. And that hexing gaze.

You follow a step behind her with arms folded behind your back, eyes wandering along her figure, and all with a light smile that the students wouldn't recognize—or even call as such. Whether it was the cake, or the drink, or some odd potion, or even Ursula herself, it doesn't matter: you feel a new rhythm of confidence overtake you.

Tonight will be the night. On Halloween, no less.

"Do you remember the day you first came here?" you ask quietly.

You don't even need to see that gentle smile of hers. "I do. Though it was freezing and, _God_ , I can't remember any of what Professor Badcock said."

"Now why would that be?"

"I think there was a distraction," she replies.

You hum your amusement as Ursula leans against the wall, her arms crossed and eyes on you. You pause thoughtfully as you slow to a halt. "Although, I don't remember it being quite _that_ cold."

"Really? It was drizzling all afternoon." Her smile is tender as you step closer. "Unless, you had more layers on?"

Slowly, you shake your head and hold her hand delicately. Once you press a light kiss against her knuckles—that golden confidence driving you—, the red of her blush grows in the cozy light. In a murmur, you admit, "I don't think I've been cold since you became a professor."

She laughs quietly, utterly bashful, and her fingers intertwine with yours. Ursula arches a brow, and she asks, "If I remember correctly, didn't you give Akko a week's worth of detention after she lobbed snowballs square in your face?"

Now that...may have been an exception. Then again, your spastic _fury_ warmed you quite well soon after. "Well—" you sputter your retort, jaw tight and brows furrowed— "Miss _Kagari_ certainly makes it difficult to focus—!"

You barely caught Ursula's slight grin before she pulled you in, cutting you off completely. Your thoughts are mush, heart a fizzling cauldron, and there is absolutely no chill in the air. Her lips are velvet. Nothing that your worth can ever afford.

She pulls away with a chuckle, and a palm against your cheek. "What was that?"

"You're a hundred times worse than your student," you mutter. Delightfully, sinfully, _unabashedly_ worse.

"Then where are all of my detentions?" Ursula asks, slipping off her hat before her arms wrap around your neck.

You smile, the brim shielding the two of you from the light—of both the lanterns and moon. Your hands crawl to her hips, and you pull her against you. "Now, if _I_ remember correctly, didn't I hand you some with Kagari?"

"...no," she murmurs languidly. "I remember assisting Akko with her dilemmas and getting blamed for it."

Your heart is hammering. Her eyes consume you, and all you want to do is just. Lean. _In._ But, Ursula's free hand toys with your bolo tie, and you know not to end her game too soon. "And what do you _call_ those lessons teaching you how to be a competent professor?" Ah yes. The days and weeks of arguments, debates, and disputes. Rife with chess matches in between every retort, knocking each other's pieces off to counter the kings.

"Uh, well..." Ursula mumbles. Your grin deepens; so you caught her in a corner. En passant. You wait for her reply, just to see if she'll manage to weasel her way out. "I'd say—" she grins— "they were missed opportunities."

Not en passant. _Checkmate._

You can't take it. You breathe, "I'd say," before capturing her lips. She groans against you as your hands roam her body, and you feel her enticing shapes and curves that lay just underneath her dress. A smile curls against you, one that's shared. One that only the two of you know about. Her hat shields the you both from the light, but from the possible prying eyes more so. Your kisses trail to her jaw, and her coo slips into your ear. Voice lowered, you murmur, "You're the most transfixing witch I've ever met, Ursula. Ever since I first saw you."

"Anne..." Ursula holds you tight as she whispers, "I want to sleep with you tonight. No interruptions." You lean away to eye her curiously. "Can we? The observatory?"

"Of course," you answer gently, then a peck to her cheek.

She giggles, and with your hand captured, she guides you down the corridor at a brisk pace. A giddiness—the same that had overwhelmed every professor—pulls you, now layered with the desires and yearning that had grown for several long years.

It's almost childlike, really, the high that plagues you—intent aside, of course. There's springs in your legs as Ursula tugs you after her, through the double doors, and you can only keep your feet in line and hold your hat on your head. The bark of the trees you pass are shimmering in bronze, and the sky is wild with crackles of life. The breeze hums through the leaves of the trees, though it's Ursula's soft, carefree laughter that invigorates you.

Before you realize it, you're at the foot of the observatory, her smile against your lips with her back planted against the door. It's delightfully curious, how quickly the two of you fell into the same rhythm. Her arm slides into place around your shoulders, and you're pulled to her with her hat slacked in her grasp. Ursula moans in your mouth, something that coils your gut around itself. Your hands travel to her waist just to feel her warmth pressed against you. You're too enamored by the smoothness of her skin, lips trailing along her jaw, to be bothered by sudden gust of wind that whisked overhead (and...cackling?).

Ursula's hand finds your chin before she ropes you into a deep, adulterated kiss that—by _Jennifer—_ has you almost dazed. Almost. You still have the awareness to tighten your grasp at her hips, which erupts a stringed hum from deep within Ursula. The lock of the door clicks (you didn't really pay attention to where her other hand was), and the two of you tumble inside.

Your steps together are roaming and nonsensical, especially once Ursula slammed the door shut with her heel. And (it really can't have been a surprise), you hear Ursula's boot knock into the first step just in time to catch her by her waist. Her arms cling around your shoulders and neck, and all that keeps the two of you stable is your hand plastered against the wall.

A smirk stretches as you murmur, "There isn't a bush to catch you, now."

She pushes you away teasingly, and the brim of her hat slaps your cheek. You hold it as she steps up the stairs, her vibrant, blue hair wild with volume—freed from wherever her hairband went. "Don't act like you're not the one making me stumble."

"As if I didn't nearly fall on the way here."

Ursula walks steadily up the stairs, her eyes kept on you. She only grins, and with a curl of her finger, she beckons you to follow. You do, and Ursula takes another step back. You four steps forward. She _five_ steps back.

You narrow her eyes. With a jerk, you lurch forward, and she's up the stairs with another gleeful laugh, one that slips her hat from her hands as you chase after her. It's as if your body doesn't realize its age, so you fly up the stairs with her. And at her door, where she fumbles with the lock and double-checks over her shoulder, you catch her. Your arms wrap around her waist, and you peck intimate, lust-driven kisses along her neck. 

Once a palm grazes your cheek, from over her shoulder, you murmur, "You. Are. A _minx._ "

And she replies with a purr: "I've always wanted to do that."

"What, have someone chase you up a flight of stairs?"

The door swings open, and Ursula practically pulls you inside by your belt. "I've always wanted to seduce a woman by running away from her," she corrects. The door is closed in a matter of a few seconds, with you now against it—bewildered as ever because _how_ did you find yourself with a woman like this? You grin as she kisses you, her hands roaming your sides. Your hat, then, is slipped away, and you toss it towards her desk without care.

The kiss is broken for a moment. You rest your forehead against hers. "What am I going to do with you?" you murmur.

"Let me take you to my bed?" Ursula asks. "Now?"

You nod, and another kiss is fashioned as the two of you navigate your way to the second set of stairs—to her loft. With hands joined, Ursula breaks away to guide you. She fishes out her wand and flicks it haphazardly once the two of you cross her rug. Your heels are kicked away as the lamps on the nightstands glow to life, illuminating the very four-poster bed that you'd found in storage. Though, the mattress was replaced, and dawned in a rich, maroon duvet and black sheets.

As to tear her boots off, Ursula pushes you backward towards the bed. And so, you fall.

As you adjust your back onto the pillows, your eyes don't leave Ursula. Her grin sends a flutter in your chest as she sets her glasses on the nightstand, and you hope that it isn't only the potion twisting your gut. She laughs through a playful hum and slinks across the sheets. It _can't_ be just the potion. Her mischievous grin is contagious. Her beauty is admired. But her eyes—they're of wildfire, and the lingering touches along your thighs are of burning embers. As she crawls to you, your hand cradles her jaw. Ursula is soft, and she pecks your palm. Then she leans in. Then lips meet with fevered intensity.

And.

Oh God.

The effect is immediate. She's all over you. Before, in the corridor, was nothing. Even outside—dull. Downstairs: simply _pales_ in comparison. There was restraint. A cat batting her toy. But now, Ursula's breaths melt into your skin, and you feel as if your heart will sputter to a halt with every nip at your neck. Her body is melding against yours. With an abstract mind, you wonder how in the _world_ a woman could feel so damn natural against you?

Your hands travel the curves of her body, from the base of her bust to the shape of her thighs. Within every moment you scour, you feel her shiver in excitement. You feel her desire laced within her lips.

Before you know it, however, she pulls away. Your arched brow softens with your growing smirk as she unfastens the buckle of her uniform. The hood and sleeves fold off her shoulders, leaving the most transfixing sight. With skin fair, her breasts follow her breathing, covered in black lace. Her torso slinks into the crumpled uniform that now pools over her lap.

You breathe your approval, a grin still hitched. Ursula chuckles as she reaches back. The bra comes loose, and your attention is fixated. "Do you like it...?" she whispers.

Teal eyes flick up to her own. "Of course," you murmur, tracing your fingers along the straps of her bra before slipping them away. The lace is tossed to the side, very much undesired. "Good _lord,_ Ursula." You can't help but gawk. She's sculpted to perfection. And you're absolutely bewitched. With your usual self-discipline gone, you bury yourself in her chest, grin wide as she purrs in amusement. There isn't a reason for you to inhale the perfume, but you do it anyway. Sweet whispers are then threaded with each slow kiss against her skin. Her fingers run through your hair delicately, and all you want is for time to stop, just to steal her away for longer than you know possible.

"Professor..."

Your chin is picked up, and you groan as she kisses you. Her warmth is everything. It's intense against you, especially as you sink into the backboard of the bed, the pillows a fluffed cushion. Your grip around her waist is that of iron, a stark contrast to her gentle hands on either side of your cheeks. She guides her tongue, eliciting a swarm of elation deep in your groin. Everything is perfect. Nothing can get in your way...

Except, all at once, the world focuses, and you feel the rigorous throb of your heart. The room is no longer tinted with gold. The lamps, even are now a cold shade of orange. Ursula breaks away from you with the same shock, breaths heaved. The clarity of the past hour sits heavy on both of your shoulders. And...you blink. Just how was it that a potion of blissful ignorance undermined Ursula's beauty?

She breathes a laugh. "Well...that spell wore off." A blush tints across her cheeks to the tips of her ears, and her eyes shift to the bed.

"It appears so." You watch her, the way she hugs herself—hiding what she had just revealed with a spell-drunken pride. "Ursula," you hum with a hand along her jawline. Her eyes widen in timid surprise. "That is the last thing I'm worried about."

"I... The last thing..." She blinks, and—gradually—Ursula relaxes. "What you said before, in the hallway...was— Was that real? Did you...mean it?"

You give a ginger smile with a slow nod. With your hands on her hips, you guide her close. Her arms wrap around your neck, and quietly, you say, "The potion wasn't the one talking, Ursula. I meant every word."

"You did," she jumbles, as if to convince herself. She hesitates for a moment, then is quick to fasten her lips against yours. You feel Ursula's hope vibrate between you. And you hold her tight, just to reassure.

"What...?" Another kiss drawn out, stirring any sentence you can manage away. "Did you?"

Ursula moans against you, rather preoccupied by your trailing fingertips across the arch of her back. "Every one..." Your tie is loosened by her eagerness, and your crisp collar—which, now that you think of it, probably hasn't been outwardly professional for the better part of the hour—is tugged to the side. A hiss escapes you as Ursula burns the crook of your neck with her lips alone. Into your shoulder, she then admits, "I've been thinking about you a lot recently... Doing this. Every night, since the beginning of the week? And I just, I can't help myself."

"With or without the potion, it seems..." You catch her arched brow from the corner of your eye. "I smell your perfume, madam," you hum.

"Really?" Ursula smirks against your neck, and her hands are working to undo the buckle and zipper of your uniform. You let her. And when it comes loose, it barely clings to your shoulders as she holds your hips. "What if I told you I was only trying to test the waters? Just— Just to see if this could happen." You shiver as she drags her tongue against your neck, which only adds to your shit-eating grin. 

_Just_ tasting _the waters, more like..._

What a witch, this one. You feel as if she can poison you, hex you, turn you into a _toad,_ and you'd still want more. That's what this is, isn't it? She put a spell on you, and nothing you can do can get you out. Ever since you first laid eyes on her, utterly transfixed by her own.

The same eyes that watch you now, ever so smoldering. 

"I'd say," you murmur, your grasp tightening around her torso, "that..." With a pierced giggle that you've never heard escape her, Ursula is flipped abruptly to the pillows. You hover over her, with words close to her ear: "You went a bit further than necessary."

Her laughs of excitement echo through every beat of your heart as you fashion quick, lust-fueled pecks along her jawline. At the folds of your uniform, her hands paw with hunger. In turn, it's thrown away without care, leaving her to hook her legs around your waist, and you to indulge. 

Everything is rapid. Your heart. Your thoughts. Your hands are frantic, curling up her thighs from underneath her pooling attire. There comes a jolt from the depths of your groin once Ursula rolls her hips. And when your bolo tie is slipped from your neck to clatter onto the floor, when her hands race through your hair, you decide that her dress needs to go.

Ursula helps you without so much a word. She sits up with arms out, and you whisk it away. And... Oh, by the Nine. _Damn_ everything else. You can't even process her figure. It's all too much to take in. You want to feel her smooth skin, kiss her roughly— _everywhere—,_ move with her, bury yourself against her, watch her, be consumed by her... Absolutely anything and everything to do with _her_. You can barely feel the buttons of your white blouse unfasten, you're so drugged with rapture.

"I've never met a woman like you," you murmur into her neck. "By Jennifer, Ursula, you're one of a kind." 

Her hold around you is tight, all while her hips are dug into your crotch as far as she can manage. "I'm glad, professor," Ursula replies. Her voice is sinfully honeyed as it sticks to your ear: "I want you to know me like nobody else has."

Your shirt is peeled away, and you hear it land squarely on the bedpost behind you. "Really now?" Both hands rest on either side of her shoulders as you lower yourself back down. Ursula barely nods against your lips, which stitch themselves in the crook of her jaw. "What do you want me to do?" She arches against your pelvis, which settles into a slow rhythm.

"Don't stop." Ursula matches your languid grind, and mewls, "I need you tonight. So please, don't stop."

How long did you want this? How long did you want to mount her? Feel her skin against yours, away from the students? (Far, _far_ away from the students, good _lord.)_ How long did you want her to whisper obscenities into your ear, begging for you to continue your pace? It invigorates you, doesn't it? Her voice had always been soft to your ears—so mellow and kind. And to hear it thicken with libido, to crack from the weight of her moans, was a sheer crime. A crime, that, you don't mind overseeing.

"Fuck, Anne..." she purrs. Her thighs tighten around you, and your hands lace through her rich blue hair. With your lips pressed against her collarbone, you feel her voice within the rising warmth of her skin.

A sporadic wave of pleasure erupts from your groin, and a moan slinks into her ear. Your search for a kiss is quickly successful; Ursula gives you yet another racy slip of the tongue, which further drives your hunger. You want to taste her. A dessert you never got from the party.

With your slow, meandering lips, the rhythm of your grinding slows to a halt. As you sit up, Ursula follows, eager to gnaw at your shoulder in between pecks. Her hands fondle your bust, and you know that she can feel your nipples harden from beneath the cups. With her attention drawn to your breasts, your eyes drift along her figure. Not a moment later, you grasp Ursula at the ass, much to her delight (a grin against your sternum says it all).

Your bra is stripped away with ease, leaving Ursula to admire what had surely lost its appeal years ago. As you watch her satisfied stare, a blush scorches your cheeks, and your lips turn a fine line.

Ursula smiles with a tilt of her head. "What?"

"Nothing," you breathe. That look in her eyes... She doesn't care, does she? You swallow. "It's nothing."

Ursula's unconvinced. "I'll have you know..." murmurs the young woman, who really has no right having you in her bed. You are nothing special, with or without clothes. Ursula, however, disagrees, what with her mouth capturing your left nipple. "That you," she continues with another suck, "are perfect for me. More than that, actually." You lean into the hand that caresses your cheek. "I'm the one who doesn't deserve this..." she whispers.

You shake your head. "Oh, no. No, you do. I'm just struck as to why me... I know there isn't really anyone your age, but I am certainly not one of those close to it."

Before you could add anymore, she captures you in a long, smoldering kiss. "Because," Ursula says, almost breathlessly, "I like women with two eyes, and without gills, and preferably _not_ married." A shared smile cracks between you. She bites her bottom lip, and in a quiet voice, she admits, "I don't know... I've always been captivated by you, Anne. And I— I don't care. You have a way of teaching, even if the students disagree, and you...have always been good to me."

"Ursula..."

She nestles into your shoulder, and you hold her with care. "I've wanted this for so long, and I... I really..."

With your soothing peck at her cheek, she quiets and tightens her grasp around your waist. "None of that is lost on me," you murmur. "I care about you, Ursula. I've wanted this for a while too."

"Really?"

"Really," you assure her. Another few pecks. You still feel her anxiety with each one. "Are you scared?"

Ursula tenses. She nods into your shoulder. "Very. But that doesn't—" She controls her breath, and you know Ursula searches for the words. "I-It doesn't matter. I need you tonight."

"And you have me." You seal your promise with another kiss, this one soft and ginger. You guide her back to the pillows, and as you pepper her neck with more whispered vows and pecks, your fingers hook around the band of her underwear. They're slipped away, cast to the floor.

You take a moment to watch her, the way her expression reads desire and uncertainty. Even so, Ursula parts her legs for you. She's swollen and desperate, and all you can think about is just how much you want to taste her. 

Experimentally, you graze your knuckles against wet heat. Ursula shivers. _Good._

No more hesitation.

Your hands find her knees, and your lips trail down her neck to the flat of her stomach. Ursula purses against the knuckles of her hand, her other balled around her sheets. You kiss the inside of her thighs with your gaze latched onto hers. There's crackles of longing in her red eyes, blanketed by a film of anticipation.

You sink your mouth in between her legs, and her soft moan rattles you. You goad more wet heat out of her, and her voice becomes your muse in a matter of moments. 

You don't want this to end. Not at all...

 **— — — — — — — — — —** **  
**

Years and years ago, your time in Oxford was... _fulfilling_. The alchemist's lab, in particular, was truly a sight. You found yourself working your hours away, fascinated by the chemistry, and the magic, and their unison. You worked on discipline and discipline alone, the same that your parents taught you—through days of study, a belt, and the ranch—, which was only fortified by your semesters at Luna Nova.

Although, everything became dull. And by then, you were only content. Nothing more, nothing less. Your fascination was just a spark—with no fire to light. Luckily, the alchemist was quite the eccentric woman who added spontaneity into the workspace. You learned a lot from her. All of what you understand about chemistry, most of what you know of linguistics, and pieces of your love for magic. You certainly learned a lot from her... Maybe too much.

It was obvious she had taken a liking to you. Nothing inherently sexual, you think now and thought then, but it wouldn't have been a surprise if it was. She was always _close._ A hand on your shoulder. A tap on your elbow. If you were shorter, you suspect she would've patted you on the head. Though, she was always like that with students. Especially with the ones she _didn't_ like—where rulers would snap against the desk, and she'd snarl in their face toe-to-toe. It was lucky she liked you. Replacing of the matriarchal force she held with her students, you were the only one that she leaned against. Respected, if you will. Trusted. Relied upon.

And for that, she gave you a taste of absolute potential. A vial of cocaine which latched itself into you, setting off a grenade of control. For the first time, you could pick apart your senses. What you smelled, what you saw, what you heard—for the short lapses of time, you could pick them apart and _thrive._ Instead of five potions brewed within the hour, it became ten within thirty minutes. The runes you could translate. The calculations you could quantify, solve, create... You were unstoppable. At the height of your prime. Nobody could touch you.

Yet... Somehow... Someway... 

You don't remember how or why exactly you were thrown out of Oxford, with a letter from your parents in your hands. The alchemist had slammed the door in your face, and your folks had wiped your memory from your home—or, well, _theirs_.

But even so, you were still climbing. There were things to do. There were things to explore. You roamed and roamed from place to place, each roof over your head deteriorating in quality before, eventually, all you had was a bench.

The high was worth the collapse of your mentality, and the execution of your life. And a sick, twisted part of you still believed that _even_ as the highly-esteemed professor at Luna Nova. But never did you allow your students to know. Never did you let them catch your reminiscent gaze out the window, towards where London would be across the horizon. Cocaine was your everything. Toxic. Abusive. But oh, did it invigorate you. Many of what you know to be true—with a sober mind—came from your bouts of high.

Nothing could replace it. Nothing.

And that remained true, until _she_ came into your life. But Ursula Callistis didn't replace it. No. She _stole_ its place, rather, and condemned it to the depths of your senseless past. Whenever you caught sight of her, Ursula's beauty beckoned you to linger. Whenever you heard her voice, you were left struck for a moment. It was...pleasant, if distracting at times.

But now, all that runs through your slumbering mind are the aches of your body, earned from a night of endless ardor. Never had any drug taken the shape of a provocative woman, her legs spread open for you, and only you. An invitation. A need.

Something was unlocked within you tonight. In your sleep, you still hear her cries of euphoria, arms wrapped around you solid. You kissed just about every decimeter of her body, and in turn, Ursula lit the monstrous fire you never knew was there.

You kept your promise. You truly know her like nobody else. You know the scar at her inner thigh intimately. You know the shape of her lips with touch alone. You know the additional note in her voice just before she climaxes. You know the extent of her infatuation to drag her teeth along your skin. Nip, tease, bite, sink— _all_ of it.

Ultimately, you know how Ursula wants you to make love to her. That's what tonight was, wasn't it? A first of many. A first after years and years of nothing but stolen glances, and a built-up appetite behind cautious advancements.

Her warmth alone lured something that Oxford never did: passion, craving, _affection._ Where, now, all you desire is to keep Ursula in your arms. Nothing to get in between...

You're wrenched awake. With a tight grumble, you pinch the bridge of your nose and pull the sheets to your bare chest. The strong smell of sex is the first thing to hit you, and...you don't mind it. It isn't a fragrance like her perfume—more of a _musk_ (though, mind, you're still intensely curious about what that perfume is). Fragrances don't last long, you know. Unreliable, you think. Pleasant for a night, then gone in the morning. And even now, you can't smell a shred of it, despite having had Ursula all over you tonight.

Musks, though—they etch themselves into you. And maybe your tolerance reveals your past. Maybe a dark corner that your students shouldn't ever know. Maybe it reveals something that shouldn't _be,_ but it smells of her and you, together, and _that_ isn't something you want to cleanse.

Your eyes wander. The room is bleached in the moon's white light if not dosed in black shadows. You're caught in between, spliced right in half. The curtain of the bed shields you from most of the wide windows. 

You settle your gaze on the moon. Within the high of the potion, whatever it was that leaked, you didn't notice the dark clouds. They're slipping away now, but even so... You didn't notice how dark the night truly was, did you? Gears turn slowly, still groggy from sleep. And what— What had awoken you so urgently? Why—

You hear it. To your side. Her whimpers.

Her clutch mangles the corner of her pillow, and you see the tremors that raced through her body. "Ursula?" you whisper. You reach for her shoulder hesitantly. Yet. You. Pause. Red bleeds through her hair once she hisses, and you can only blink. It's like embers. Blazing. _Intense._ Yet cold in the tonight's moonlight.

You study the woman's face, so beautiful and kind. But...a new layer of familiarity sinks in.

You've seen that face before... On newspapers and magazines. You swallow tightly, anxious. "Ch-Chariot du Nord...?" There isn't a response—not that you expected one; you don't know if you would be able to answer if there was. 

Chariot du Nord. Fallen star. Shunned by witches. Name left for dead. Your heart is heavy as you watch her, absentmindedly rubbing her shoulder. And you think, if this is true, the woman you spent a night of coition with, and who you sleep beside now... She— You can't piece it together. You _refuse_ to. You remember reading about Shiny Chariot in your first year of teaching.

How she gave non-magical families a show.

How the world loved her.

How everything was cut short, with her name vanishing from all conscious.

Ursu—no, _Chariot_ —claws the pillow, twitching and murmuring nonsensical syllables. And, at once, her eyes flash open. She jerks awake with a chopped cry. Her back is to you, and it's obvious she's unaware. You're not in her reality. There's an abrupt wall between you, and you feel it. "No... N-No, I won't let you..." she whispers. 

And the wall terrifies you to your core. 

"Beauty, I won't let you..."

All over again, you witness this woman's life fall apart. Except, now, instead of printed ink, she's real. Flesh and blood. With a hold around your heart that pounds excessively. "Chariot," you breathe, replacing your arms around her shoulders with an embrace.

She freezes under your touch, your chest against her back. Chariot holds your forearms. "I-I don't want her to kill Anne... I didn't mean to— I-I know I shouldn't have. But..."

"It's okay, darling," you coo in her ear, "I'm not going to let anything like that happen."

Chariot twists and chokes against your shoulder blindly. "I just wanted at least one night with her. A-And now, I— Beauty's going to kill her. I-I don't want— Want to stop."

"Well Anne is staying right by your side, Chariot. Nothing's going to change that." Her breaths shudder into your skin, and her tears melt with them. The knot in your throat is swallowed.

_I knew you weren't so different from me, but why...? Why would you...?_

You close your eyes and nestle, her tremors subsiding. She coils further into you, and, quietly, you ask, "Are you scared?"

"I-I... I am. I fell in love w-with her, and I-I shouldn't've..."

A kiss is pressed against her temple. "I promise you that Anne will not leave, okay? She will not die, or run off, or neglect you. I promise you that."

"O-Okay," Chariot whimpers hoarsely.

"Now settle down and sleep," you murmur. She nods, and as she slowly sinks back into her pillow, you pull the sheets and blankets over yourselves. As you rest against her, arms around her waist, you listen to the pounding of your chest.

Your heart... It warns of a fracture, and it unsettles you. But Ursula— _Chariot_ —rests so close, with her head on your shoulder and hand against your stomach, that you cannot help it. You cannot help but to stay true to your vow. You're just as compelled to her, and maybe even more so now.

A sweet kiss is planted against her forehead, which quiets the last of her disorganized thoughts, and trembles, and tears.

Chariot is so warm against you, and as you drift to sleep, you cannot fathom any other that you'd hold so fondly...

 **— — — — — — — — — —** **  
**

In a small clearing is a flower, bathed in speckled moonlight from between the leaves overhead. It's a small, delicate thing. Anything can trample it or rip it from the earth, it's so small. Yet, things in nature can deceive. Its roots grow deep in the ground, and the closed pedals are woven with the strength of iron. Its thin leaves timid, but sharp.

And tonight it blooms. An orchid, with hues of blues, reds and violets blended together. A beautiful thing. It drips with enchantment and desire.

On that night, it overlooks the observatory from the base of a maple tree, thrumming with a new pulse of life.

 **— — — — — — — — — —** **  
**

Amanda groans as she blinks awake. Jasminka is overhead on the top bunk, enjoying her breakfast snack. Electric-green eyes slide towards the other bed where Constanze works on a stanbot—one that, if Amanda remembers correctly, was malfunctioning for the past week. Probably because Akko had accidentally tripped over it. As she watches closely, Amanda notes the sheet of metal with an imprint of a shoe laying on the ground beside the bed, bent and crooked.

...most definitely because Akko tripped over it. And squashed it, apparently.

She groans and flops back onto her pillow. The hum of the flame gun pauses, and when Amanda looks back over, Constanze nods. _Good morning._

"Morning..." Amanda rubs her forehead. "I did some stupid shit last night, didn't I...?"

A nod.

"Flew all over the place with one of the fairies under my arm?" Constanze points to the corner of the room, and Amanda leans forward. A fairy sleeps in her open dresser, snoring soundly. "Ah..." She blinks. "And I ate all of Jasminka's cherries?"

"Yeah, but we shared," Jasminka assures from the top bunk. She hangs a bag of potato chips by Amanda's face. "Want some?"

Amanda shakes her head. "Nah, I'm—" She reconsiders when reading the label. "Maybe a few." Once she pops them in her mouth, her jaw works in thought. "I think... Oh shit."

"What?"

Constanze holds her goggles out from her eyes.

"I think I might've gotten the professors all potion-drunk last night..." 

Heavy knocks on the door jolt all three of them. Perturbed, the green team waits. "Miss O'Neill, may we have a word?"

Amanda sinks with her teeth bared in an awkward smile. _Yep, that's definitely what happened._ She grimaces, stalling the inevitable for just a moment. "It's not Finnelan...but damn does Badcock sound ticked," she grumbles, and Jasminka could only chew in agreement. "I'm coming, professor," Amanda calls. And once she gets to the door with her hand on the handle, she inhales and tenses.

**— — — — — — — — — —**

When you wake, you don't realize _what_ had brought you out of your slumber. So, groggily, you pick yourself up from the pillow, and it's the first time in a _decade_ —save for the one sick day—where the sunrise has beaten you. You blink towards the stairwell and—

"For the love of all the _Nine!_ " you snap violently, wrenching the duvet and sheets to your chest. "H- _Headmistress!_ What are you doing—?!"

Miranda stands at the foot of the stairs, still a polite distance away (or, well, as polite as a distance can be in this circumstance), undeterred by your improper state. Improper being very much an understatement. Cheerfully, she says, "Well, it seems that 'bump in the night' turned out to be a little troublesome after all, Anne. Mind getting little miss up?"

You swallow and numbly shake Ursula's shoulder, who sleeps soundly with her hair the fine, rich blue. She grumbles and jerks the sheets. You frown and take the extra, decorative pillow that had been knocked against the lamp and swung. It's whacked into the same shoulder, and Ursula immediately jerks awake. "Wha— _Oh my god, headmistress!_ " With just as much vigor, she repeats your animation with the covers and hides behind them. "We— Uh, last night..."

Her face is a stark maroon, and Miranda only giggles. "Oh, it's not to be so flustered over, dear. It seems that Anne took my advice after all."

"'…advice?'" Ursula echoes. You swallow and shrug, your cheeks scorching as well.

"Anyway. You two had Miss O'Neill in charge of the impulse sand last night, yes? With Miss Manbavaran?"

 _Oh._ You heave a long sigh. "Yes... And she dropped it, didn't she?"

"And got us all a little _too_ happy, I'd say so. Certainly gave you two a jumpstart into your night, didn't it?" she asks, still quite amused. "Anyway, we'll have to find some other consequence to this, I'm afraid. Especially since you two were the ones to give her this past detention. It was a rather large bag gone to waste...unless, of course, you _weren't_ going to finally get together after all."

Now she is just rubbing it in.

"Yes, we'll get dressed, headmistress, and meet you downstairs."

"Yes," Miranda replies. "Better yet, I'll enjoy the time outside at the bottom. _Oh,_ which reminds me." She pulls out Ursula's hat from behind her back. "I found this on the way up."

"...thanks," Ursula squeaks, muffled through her duvet.

Miranda nods and hangs it on the railing. "Now then, I'll see you two in a few minutes."

All you hear is the headmistress' steps down from the loft, then out the door, which is shut closed. After a few long seconds, Ursula breathes and rubs her head with her palm's heel. "That's…definitely not how I expected to wake up," she murmurs, her voice still layered with sleep. "But, uh, good morning."

Her smile has you relax for a moment. "Good morning." Ursula's slow to rise to her feet before she meanders to her wardrobe—the benefits of it being _her_ room, you suppose—while you find your wand in between the nightstand and bed. With a twirl, your clothes hover to you, and you slip them on with ease. Your undergarments are on quick, and while you begin to button your collared shirt, you look over your shoulder. Ursula pulls on her bodysuit over a plain pair of underwear and a simple bra, and you chuckle. "You know, the more I think of it, I don't quite _believe_ you were testing anything, miss."

Ursula pauses, and her blush is minimal. Her smile, though, reveals her intentions. As if they weren't recognized already. "Well, I mean, if nothing happened, it was a test."

You're slipped into your dress with the bolo tie loose around your neck. You pull your heels to yourself and say, "I doubt I would've passed the opportunity last night either way." You watch her and stand to your feet, and even with her back turned, you know she's smiling as she holds her uniform. 

As you stride down the stairs, you hum to yourself a gentle tune. Your eyes peel for your hat, and you fix your hair into its usual, tight bun. Now...where exactly did you throw it again? You turn to Ursula's desk and there it is, sitting comfortably beside a Alcor, who watches you with interest.

You stride to the desk and pick up the hat, only to notice— "Oh! Did I hide these from you?" you ask quietly. Alcor tilts his head once you point to the bag of treats—cubes of some grains and such. He hops down from his perch and stares. With your hat fixed on your head, you glance to the stairs. You can hear Ursula still shuffling about, cursing herself as she reaches for her boots—and her hat, at the same time if you heard correctly. A subtle grin in place, you take a modest handful of the treats and open your palm to the familiar.

And, though slow at first, he takes some out of your hand. You watch as he swallows and chirps, feathers ruffled before he waddles in place and gobbles the rest. His head bobs joyfully as he eats, tittering and hobbling.

From the loft, you hear, "Anne?! Is he eating treats before breakfast?!"

You freeze, then swallow a chuckle. "N-No, dear!" You duck your head and stroke the top of Alcor's head, straightening his odd bunch of scraggly feathers. Hushing him, you say, "This'll be our little secret, then."

Alcor squawks quietly and nibbles your sleeve.

"Oh how many did he _eat?!_ He looks like he's going to ricochet off the walls!" You watch Ursula from over your shoulder as she crosses the room from the stairs, and her boots are anxious as they hit the floor. "He's going to get fat!"

"It's okay, Ursula. The bird will not keel over after a little breakfast."

Ursula sighs and shakes her head. You see the slightest of smiles cross her. "Alcor's very sensitive! A— How much _did_ you feed him?" You raise your hands defensively as she inspects the bag.

Then she looks at you, suspicious, as you divert her away from the bag of bird treats and Alcor—who flutters back to his perch, quite happy. "What?" you ask innocently, slowly guiding her to the door. 

As Ursula leans against it, she answers, "He's _old,_ and I don't want him to have stomach issues."

"As the saying goes, us old birds of a feather must flock together—"

" _Oh,_ my. God."

"— _and,_ " you continue, pulling Ursula close as she fights her emerging smile, "I'll tell you that we don't care about the dangers of treats if it means we get to have more before we drop."

She rolls her eyes. "Then it's for _my_ sake, not yours, you _crone._ "

Ursula's cheeky grin won, and she has her arms wrapped around your neck. You raise a brow and mutter, "You're a hypocrite."

"I am?"

"You're the reason I'll need hip replacements after you throw them out." Her laugh is sharp as you lean in, and you feel the last of it buzz through your kiss. Ursula's lips are a fine wine, and the way she kneads your shoulders has you almost forget about Miss O'Neill and her apparent nightly adventure. _Almost._ After all, the night may not have been what it was without her, but...well...she _did_ fail your detention. Which is unacceptable.

Though, you can let a measly minute slide with Ursula between you and the door, the morning soft, warm and relaxed all of a sudden.

When you do pull away, Ursula is coy yet snug in your embrace. "How about we not keep the headmistress waiting for too long?"

"Yeah, okay," she mumbles.

You follow her out the door with your arms folded behind your back, and she strides a few steps in front, her hands shy and together. By the time you reach the bottom and out the door, you find Miranda coddling some flowers by the forest, humming and peppering them with nourishing spells. "Did you two rekindle some of last night?" she asks sweetly, though you hear the teasing at the end of every one of her words.

You purse your lips as Ursula chuckles. "Well, u-uh... We got dressed and fed Alcor some treats." Cheeks warm, you turn your head away from her sly gaze; Ursula isn't going to let the fattening of her bird-familiar go, is she?

"Well that's lovely," Miranda giggles. "Now let's go see Miss O'Neill, shall we?"

Without a word from either of you, you and Ursula follow the headmistress. Along the way, you fix your bolo tie to the height of your collar, and you catch mesmerizing eyes as they flicked to you, lingering along your neck—which, you know, has _some_ marks from the night prior. And you have an inkling that Ursula's chewing her cheek to keep her proud smile from growing larger than it already was. Both of you turn your heads, shy though content.

Miranda whistles an old children's rhyme of burning witches—which, honestly, no witch in this modern day could ever get out of their head, same as Ring Around a Rosie. You three turn towards the first of the courtyards, to the same doors that Ursula had pulled at your wrist in the midst of your high. Even though you're trying your damndest to keep your gratification to a minimum (for now), it's difficult to manage a fraction of your usual, studious scowl.

And Ursula notices. And Ursula smiles.

You return it, softly, just before you reach the corridor towards the cafeteria. So you look ahead, down the hall. And? You see Samantha and Miss O'Neill waiting patiently at the foot of a mess. The bag of white sand had exploded right beside the double doors leading to the cafeteria, and it's a wonder how neither you nor Ursula saw it. Then again, you two were high, and frisky, so it really shouldn't be a surprise at all. And you know Ursula thinks the same, what with her meek grimace and all.

Once you get closer, you (finally) pull your usual, disciplinary scowl over your blissful haze—again, you remind yourself, you're still overwhelmed of a passionate night with ardent _intimacy_. And you can't stop thinking of it. It infects every step of the way. But when you halt, your eyes find Miss O'Neill, and the third-year gives a weak chuckle and gulps. You arch your brow curiously. _Normally_ she's indifferent.

But your attention is directed to Samantha, who has just about lost it. From the red in her cheeks to her grinding teeth, she's unbelievably livid. So _that_ explains Amanda's lack of confidence. "Where were you two?" she interrogates.

Miranda chuckles and waves her hand to settle your colleague down. "Oh, they were just swept up from the sand, Samantha. They _were_ the ones that took the brunt of it—aside from Amanda here, of course."

"Which brings us to the issue at hand," you being before any other squabbling can start. Miss O'Neill pulls her eyes to you, and some of the color in her cheeks drain. "We had you be responsible for carrying the dozen of bags—which you only did one, and Miss Manbavaran I _assume_ eleven _—_ so I must ask, what. Happened?"

"Uh...well, I just— Sucy and I were talking, and I accidentally...dropped it. From my broom—we, uh, we used brooms so that we could get it done without dragging the bags...and...um...you, like, said that..." Amanda swallows again and plays with her hands. "You know, don't like, drag the bags cause they'll...break?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale. You _did_ tell her that, but you also had told her to take her time if need be. "Now—" Your eyes snap open, and you turn towards the cafeteria. Crossly, because you _really_ don't want anything else to dampen your morning, you call, "Miss Kagari. What are you doing hovering about this conversation?"

As Atsuko's head pokes out from the side, both curious and gleeful, you hear Ursula breathe slowly and hold her forehead. The student steps out, and with a voice that was still hoarse from vomiting fireworks, she says, "I'm just waiting so that I can go to my dorm... I just had breakfast. That's all."

"Y-Your dorm is closer to the other doors, Akko!" Samantha hisses.

"But I...need to stretch my legs. The nurse said so."

You clap your hands together with a scoff. "Oh, never mind. Just ignore _her_." Your eyes drop back to Miss O'Neill, who now is visibly irritated by the grin Miss Kagari hands out. "Now what do you suppose you should do for your detention? Not only have you cost the school _money—_ " Samantha nods vigorously in agreement— "but you've also caused quite the disturbance last night..."

"U-Uh... I, um, don't know, professor."

Before you open your mouth to tell her just how many hours you expect her to spend in the library, researching about psychological-based potions and spells, you feel Ursula's quiet hand on your arm. As she smooths her thumb over your uniform, Ursula smiles gingerly and says, "Well, I think the night ended well regardless." You swallow, and your gut twirls as she squeezes just enough so only _you_ know. "How about you clean up this mess by hand, and then do the chores of your kidnapped friend for the day?"

Amanda blinks, and you know she's trying to process it as you are. Maybe it's her gentle words that did it, or her relaxed grin, but nevertheless, Miss O'Neill slowly nods. "Okay... I'll, um, do that, ma'am."

"Good. Because I don't think you'd want Professor Finnelan's answer," Ursula humors. 

"No, I don't think you do," you murmur, still dumbfounded. And, well, rather aroused—her hand hasn't left your arm.

Miranda cheers to herself and holds her hands together. "Now that's been cleared up, how about we go on with our day? Samantha?"

"Yes, headmistress?" Samantha nearly chokes out, her stare on Ursula as if she can't believe what she just witnessed.

"You wanted a game of chess, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes...I did." Samantha follows Miranda without another word, eyes still wide.

Which leaves Amanda, Atsuko, Ursula and you to linger. Miss Kagari steps forward and whistles, and she wrings her wrist behind her back. Miss O'Neill, whose realization of how much of her Saturday has been lost, scowls and stomps off, avoiding Atsuko's light giggling. Though she can't escape her words. With a smugness that's perhaps appropriate, Miss Kagari follows her classmate with a small hop in her step. "You're such an idiot."

"Be _quiet,_ Akko..."

"What? Sucy told me all about what happened—"

" _Akko!_ I swear, I will..." Amanda turns and looks over her shoulder at the end of the hall, and (smartly) shuts her jaw.

Miss Kagari doesn't, of course, being that she's ecstatic knowing that she's on the other side of awarded detentions: "And _then_ we saw you fly around like an idiot with that kidnapped fairy!"

"I said fuckin' _shut up!_ " you hear her snap from around the corner.

You shake your head, entirely impressed by how—for the first, and probably _only_ time—Atsuko's antics aren't troublesome. Or, well, detention-worthy. Ursula watches the pair bicker down the hall from beside you, wearing a light grin of her own. "They're going to be a handful over break," she hums quietly.

"I don't doubt it," you reply. "They have the tendency of winding each other up... And they've been dragging the Blue Team along with them as of late."

"Oh, those girls." Ursula laughs and turns away, back down the hall towards the observatory. You follow with your hands folded behind your back, your professionalism intact. "I would say you'd think that Diana and Lotte would have more of an affect, though Barbara and Hannah are something else as well. _And_ I think Lotte gets in over her head sometimes."

You nod. "Yes, I've seen that too..." You arch a brow and watch Ursula, who eyes you over her shoulder. You find an exciting spark within them, and you wonder if that was what prompted her spontaneous moment—masked by her agreeable nature—that got Amanda to agree and sign her entire day away without so much of a blink. And half of you wants to follow her back to the observatory, just to watch that spark flare into the intensity it reached last night. But you don't because you have responsibilities. Town-duty again. So, you ask, "Weren't you in a similar crowd when you came here?"

Ursula's smile is suddenly bashful, and her cheeks grow pink as she answers, "Well, not _exactly._ I rarely got detention. I just, sometimes, thought I was doing the book's way instead of my own."

"I can't imagine that..."

You _do_ imagine it, for a moment. Her as a student. Star pupil with grand ideas and elaborate, spectacular plans. A talent that surpassed her discipline at the time, and one that would awe many with a dazzle of light. Only...to be snapped out of the public's conscious. Even yours, for a while.

You're outside before you realize, the stroll having been blanketed by a comfortable silence. And Ursula breaks it: "I, um..." Her eyes drift to you, and finally, you understand the conflict within them. The internal war she fights. But her smile is genuine, and Ursula says, "Thank-you. For last night. I... It was nice."

With her hands captured gently in your own, you kiss her knuckles and murmur, "There will be more, I hope?"

Her eyes twinkle yes, and her deepened smile is concrete. Yet, with a tone of amusement, she answers, "If Alcor can still fly his weight, then there will be." Ursula leans close, and her lips press ever so sweetly against your cheek. Your shared grin is enough, and quietly, she slips away to the observatory.

And you watch, just as captivated as you had been the moment you saw her down the hallway, Samantha's words a blur and the headmistress (bless her) a decoration. Before long, you slip away back towards the academy where another pair of watchful eyes are surely needed. But you know you'll be distracted then, your thoughts on Chariot du Nord, and how she became the fallen star she was.

A fallen star, who, you somehow managed to catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes yes, I know I know. Haven't updated Fickle Moon. Have a lot on my plate. Whatever. I just wanted to get this out so that I can take my mind off it for a hot minute, just so that I can do…stuff. It makes sense to me, okay??
> 
> Anyway, from where I stand, what's probably going to happen is that I'll finish up my Jori one-shots, put most of my focus on A Yellow Dress Forgotten, and update Fickle Moon and this on the side. So, yeah, the two three-shots will probably be finished around the same time. Probably. (I'm hoping here.)
> 
> With that out of the way, I do hope you enjoyed! And to those celebrating, Happy Holidays! And to those who aren't, Happy End of Bitch-ass 2020!  
> :)


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